


From Bad to Worse

by Dexidoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Give Warnings, good luck, shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 73,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexidoodle/pseuds/Dexidoodle
Summary: Modern Westeros AU.Borrowed GRRMs characters but story is totally unrelated. Might have violence and liberal use of bad words... and the potential for a little citrus (though citrus is not my strong point)This is my first attempt at SanSan, first post on AO3 and it's unbeta'd (triple threat).When your knight in shining armour is anything but that...





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"It was really nice to see your uncle Jaime again." Sansa smiled tiredly to herself as she gazed out of the window of the little red sports car speeding through the back streets of Kings Landing in the early hours of the morning. "I haven't seen him since your family came to Winterfell... gosh, years ago. I was thirteen, I think. He certainly looks more rugged than he did back then"

She laughed shortly and glanced over at Joffery in the drivers seat. He looked tired as well and strangely tense if the whiteness of his knuckles on the steering wheel were any indication. His olive coloured silk tie was loosened and the top button of his dress shirt open. It was a rare thing to see him so rumpled. She looked back out of the window and wrinkled her nose. He didn't like it when she prattled on so. She should stop talking for a few minutes... Companionable silence they called it.

Didn't feel very companionable. More hostile... was hostile too harsh a word? Huffy?

She looked back at her fiance. He kept his hard agate eyes forwards, glaring through the windscreen, the muscle in his jaw kept jumping but he kept his silence.

Sansa wasn't sure what she had done. She thought back. No, she had been the perfect lady and he had seemed fine earlier in the evening. He was personable and attentive if a little distant.

"Your uncle Tyrions new wife is very pretty... not at all what I expected she'd be... not that I thought she'd be ugly or anything, but she's very exotic looking and her accent is just enchanting." Sansa had started prattling again. She knew the admonition was coming but she couldn't stop her tongue from wagging. She knew something was wrong and it made her nervous, being nervous made her prattle... she was thankful the nervous giggling hadn't started yet... Joffery really hated the giggling. "Your mothers dress was simply lovely. The colour, oh and the detailed embroid..."

"ENOUGH!" Joffery shouted suddenly, rudely cutting Sansas rambling monologue short. She snapped her lips shut and lowered her eyes to her folded hands in her lap.

With an impatient huff he jerked on the steering wheel and screeched his little red sports car to a halt on the curb.

"Get out." He growled, eyes fixed out of the windscreen.

Sansa snapped her eyes up and turned her head towards him, her mouth hanging open in incomprehension.

"Wh-what?"

"I'm done. I'm breaking up with you. Get out of the car." he sneered back at her.

"G-Get out of the car?" She squeaked. She looked around at the dark industrial road around them. She had no idea where she even was. What was going on? "What did I do, Joffery? I ... I don't understand"

"Have you lost whatever function you have in your tiny brain or have you just gone deaf?... I'm breaking up with you! Get out of the CAR!"

He huffed again as he unfastened his seat belt in a rush and pushed his door open. Sansa watched vacantly as he stomped around the front of the car and flinched as her door whipped open. He reached over her, unclipped her belt and roughly yanked her from her seat, leaving her teetering on the curb in her heels, confused tears rapidly filling her wide eyes.

He slipped back into the drivers seat and the car started to pull away. The brake lights flared as he came to an abrupt stop. Sansas heart started beating again only to stop cold as the passenger window skimmed down and her sparkly silver clutch flew with a clatter onto the sidewalk, scattering the contents across the filthy concrete.

The little red sports car sped off down the road with a squeal of tires and the rancid smell of burnt rubber and Sansa watched dumbly as the red tail lights got smaller and smaller before they turned off onto a side street and disappeared from view all together.

And then she was alone.

She blinked stupidly and a salty tear trailed its way down her cheek.

She looked about herself forlornly, glancing down at her little clutch that she had scoured the Maegors Holdfast boutiques for to especially match her sparkly silver low heeled sandles that went with her little blue dress with the thin sparkly silver belt that she had especially picked out for tonight. The pretty dress matched her eyes perfectly.

She crouched down on the pavement and gathered up her things. Credit card. Cell phone. Lip gloss. Handkerchief. Her mother had always told her to have a handkerchief about her person... for emergencies. Her shoulders slumped and her knees touched the hard dirty ground and she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears with a wail.

She wasn't sure how long she sobbed. Not long surely.

How she must have looked... not that there was anyone around to see her at all. That wasn't the point though, she was a lady and ladies did not grub around on the ground like critters, she would surely soil her party clothes.

And ladies did not make a public spectacle of themselves, weeping dramatically on the ground like a mummer in a tragedy.

She was a lady. She was a Stark.

She drew in a deep shuddering breath and straightened her shoulders. She dabbed her handkerchief at her cheeks and eyes careful not to smudge her eye make-up (which she assumed was still there). She ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it back into place and she tucked her things back into her sparkly silver clutch. Credit card. Lip gloss. Handkerchief.

She got carefully to her feet, running her hands over her blue dress, straightening any of the wrinkles that may have appeared in her momentary display of uncouthness and looked to her cell phone to find herself an Uber.

She nearly wailed again as the phone remained dark and the jagged crack that emanated from the corner that must have hit the hard ground was all that greeted her.

She closed her eyes and inhaled, exhaled and inhaled again. She looked about herself in despair.

Joffery always insisted on taking 'shortcuts', taking her through places, usually unsavoury, that she had never deigned visit ever before. As now... she found herself in an innocuous looking industrial street full of dark empty warehouses and yards surrounded by high chain link fences. There were very few street lights, casting a dingy pall over everything. Every shadow hid a threat, she was sure of it. It was also quite dirty.

She would need to find a main road. Perhaps there was a service station or convenience store close by. Regardless, she would need to walk... in these shoes. Thank the gods she hadn't worn stilettos. Can you imagine?

Sansa sighed and began to trudge along the road in the direction that Jofferys little red sports car had disappeared into.

She did not even want to think about what had just happened. She'd been dumped and then dumped. Dumped on the side of the road like trash. No explanation, no foreshadowing, just... dumped.

Fiance to trash. Wedding reception guest to the gutter. Her mind boggled and then shrank from it.

Just walk, Sansa, she thought to herself. Get to a main road, get to a phone and call Jon. Jon would pick her up... or send someone... and then she would be home safe in her apartment and then she could sort out what had happened and what to do from there. She could trust Jon to not tell anyone. Arya would track down Joffery and shoot him in the face. Her parents would confront his parents. Robb would form a gang with Theon and start an all out war... and Bran and Rickon were too young to do anything, but they would if they could, likely hack into Joffs social media and litter everyones feed with porn or something.

The pretty silver shoes she had picked out had looked great with the outfit. They made her legs look long and trim and the height made her bum look extra perky without being over the top. They made her the same height as Joffery... he didn't like it when she wore heels that made her taller... maybe the same height was a 'no go' too.

She sighed again. The shoes had looked great, but they were not for walking any great distance. They were for sitting at beautifully appointed tables with exotic blooms spilling from overstuffed vases, for dancing with the male Lannisters and Baratheons and a giggly young Myrcella as they celebrated Tyrion and Shaes wedding... and sipping champagne. She would slip them off and walk barefoot if she could be certain that the pavement was clean.

This was the longest road in the woooorld... she groaned, flexing her toes on every step and tucking her clutch from under one arm to the other.

She finally came to an intersection and looked left and right... which way to go? They both looked like they went deeper into the industrial area... Joffery had turned left hadn't he.

She started down that road. Flea Bottom Road... charming.

She had been walking for a few minutes when a van parked on the side of the road ahead of her moved as if there was someone inside and a moment later the drivers side door opened and a man stepped out. Under normal circumstances Sansa would have been overjoyed to see someone else on the street, but it was dark, late and she was alone and this man was giving off a vibe that she didn't like. She hesitated for just a moment.

Should she cross the street? She didn't want to turn back, she couldn't have him behind her and she doubted that she could outrun him. There was nowhere for her to go.

He was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk now and looking in her direction, she couldn't see him properly, it was too dim to discern any features. He was taller than Joffery, but not by much. He had an above average build and he had dark close cropped hair and dark stubble. That was it, all she could see.

Maybe she was making too much of it. Maybe he was just coming to do some work late at night... he might have a phone.

No. The vibe just wasn't right. They were just standing still, several meters apart, staring at each other.

Sansa took a step sideways to cross the street and he suddenly moved. He moved much faster than she was expecting and she much slower. He was suddenly right next to her, his hand clamped around her upper arm.

"Where you going little girl?" His hoarse whisper breezed past her ear lobe, his voice grating like a pile of rusty nails. "You know you have to pay the toll don't you? For being out of bounds."

Sansa Stark was a lady. She was delicate and gentle. She knew there were bad things in the world, she was just untouched by them. She had led a sheltered existence in her parents northern kingdom where she was treated as nothing less than a princess. She believed that everyone was good and at heart they wanted the only the best for themselves, their families and others as well. She didn't know any better. She was admittedly, very naive, even at twenty years old.

"I don't have any money." She replied, her voice a little shrill. "You can have my cell... it's a bit broken though."

She pulled against his hold only to be yanked back towards him.

"We can think of a better way to work off the debt, eh?"

He began to pull her towards the van and Sansas heart began to thunder in earnest within her chest and the voice of her year 11 septa was suddenly in her head. When the girls were taken aside in phys-ed and taught basic self defence. It was after a Wintertown girl had been attacked on her way home from school, it was in all of the papers. Sansa had been more concerned with the state of her lilac nail varnish at the time but she remembered: Don't let them get you in a vehicle, don't let them take you to a second location. Struggle and make as much noise as possible. There was no fighting fair; use your nails, teeth and go for the sensitive parts, anything to get away. Run. Above all else...RUN.

For the first time in her life, Sansa Stark abandoned all decorum and turned into a screaming hellcat.

She began to thrash about, trying to break his vice grip on her arm and she struck out with her beautifully manicured fingernails leaving a neat row of scratches on his stubbled cheek that began to seep blood. He swore loudly and dragged her into his body wrapping her in his vine-like arms. Her feet left the ground and he carried her closer to the van. She flailed her legs around in the air and connected with... something. It resulted in a grunt and he released her suddenly. Her feet touched the ground and she was running before she knew what was happening. Her instinct was to flee. Her heels clacked on the tarmac as she tore across the road and back in the direction that she had come from... she had no idea where to go, but her feet carried her just the same.

She didn't look back...

... So she never saw the blow coming.

She must have lost consciousness for a moment, just a moment. Long enough for the man to drag her into an alley way just off the road.

She felt a warm wetness trailing its way down her face from her forehead, the back of her head throbbed. Her right ankle ached.

She started to fight immediately.

She screams loud and shrill, tearing from her throat and permeating the air with her terror.

This time her thrashing about didn't do much, the man balled up his fist and punched her in the face.

She was dazed and she couldn't keep her feet. She toppled backwards onto the ground, her head bouncing off the concrete with a sickening wet thud.

And she lay still.

She couldn't do anything else.

The man was on her then. He hit her again.. making sure she stayed down, stayed still.

The thing that struck her first... other than his fists, was the fact that his breath smelled good, like strawberry candy and he was wearing a musky cologne. He had brown eyes, like whiskey. Weren't evil villains supposed to be gross? Smelling of sweat and alcohol, with eyes like the pits of the seven hells...

Her hands fluttered uselessly against his as he groped at her, tearing at her pretty blue dress that matched her eyes.

She felt tears squeeze from the corners of her eyes. She wanted her mother.

The man suddenly flew backwards off of her like he had been shot out of a canon. He just flew away. Gone. Her blurry and terrified mind could not comprehend it.

She heard a muffled squawk that petered off into a horrifying gurgling sound, kind of like a full and whirring insinkerator full of lumpy pudding... how odd, she thought vaguely, what a deeply troubling sound for a human being to make. It didn't last long and that was good. She didn't like that gurgling sound at all.

She blinked owlishly up at the now silent and dark alleyway. Her right eye felt weird. She could just see the stars in between the gaps of the overlapping eaves. Might rain... the clouds were closing in. She was very cold. She wished Joffery had thought to throw her little jacket out of the window too... the one with the little winter roses sewn on in pretty sequins. It was still in the back seat of his car.

She was so cold that she started to shiver and she had the feeling that it was getting darker, the edges of her vision faded slowly. She could do with a bit of a 'nana nap' right now. The ground was terribly uncomfortable though. She should get up. Was she lying in something wet? What would her mother say? Lying in a grimy alley way like a dirty transient.

It was soooo cold. Where had that man gone? Was he coming back? Should she try to run?

As the remaining wisp of her consciousness left her, the last thing she saw before the blackness engulfed her completely was a hulking shadow looming over her... descending on her. She couldn't even scream.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She floated quite pleasantly most of the time. And whimpered pathetically the rest of the time. There was admittedly some pain at first.

She remembered quite clearly the broken keening sound that escaped from her mothers lips when her disbelieving eyes first beheld her daughter.

Sansa knew she was in Hospital. She was not sure how she got there. She must have been there for a while if her parents were there. They had been at Winterfell... hadn't they?

Catelyn Stark sat stoically at her daughters bedside. Eddard Stark didn't seem to have the capacity to sit still for any length of time. He drifted about the plain white room with beige venetian blinds. Pacing. Staring out the window. Wandering the halls and acquiring copious Styrofoam cups of bad coffee which went undrunk and had begun to collect to overflowing quantities on the tall Formica table next to Sansas bed. He sat every now and then and stared at her only to leap up again and pace.

Police Commander Jeor Mormont had been there at some stage. He knew her dad really well, they had played golf together a few times when Sansa was young. He had talked quietly with her parents in the hallway for quite some time. He had patted her hand awkwardly and said he would come back to talk to her when she was a bit better. He was a nice man. He had never visited her before... but she was sick, maybe he would bring her flowers when he came back.

Other people had bought flowers, she noticed. There were bouquets on the shelves, a few on the floor as there were only a limited amount of surfaces. Someone had bought her bright yellow sunflowers. She loved sunflowers.

Her brothers and sister had come later, when they had moved her to another room, lugging the copious amounts of vases and receptacles after her. Robb paced, an auburn copy of his dad. Jon had to work, but he came and sat with her when he was off duty, his brow seemed permanently creased with concern. It was one of the few times that Jon did not have to suffer her mothers affronted glares. Bran sat next to his mother holding her hand. Rickon was in and out of the room, he was an active lad and the room was too confining for him. He came back every now and then and whispered that Sansa was going to be okay soon. He would kiss her cheek and then disappear again. Arya stood in a corner, her arms crossed and she stared at her sister with furious intensity.

She had other visitors. Lots of them, their visits were a blur. Margaery Tyrell came baring what looked to be her grandmothers entire rose garden. Aunt Lysa had even come in briefly. She had said hello to Cat, glanced at Sansa and then left again quickly... at least she came.

Sansa remembered the visit from Robert Baratheon the most and with the most amount of cringe. Her dad had lost the plot, furious that Joffery had left her on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Ned had shouted that it was all Jofferys fault. Mr Baratheon had left quickly too. Sansa was pretty sad about that. Her dad and Robert were best friends and she didn't want to be the one to come between their years of near brotherhood.

Sansa was up and about in no time really. She had cried when she had first seen herself in the vanity mirror in her rooms cramped ensuite. That man had hit her quite hard it seemed. Her right eye had swollen shut and was puffy and purple. She had a cut on her forehead which had little white paper sutures holding it together. Her lip was cut as well. She was a picture of bruising otherwise, mottled red and deep vibrant violet... the fading ones were green and yellow. She had scratches and cuts. One of her ribs was broken along with three of her fingers, her ankle was sprained and she had headaches. The doctor told her she had a couple of bad blows to the back of her head and she had concussion. Other than that, she was just dandy. Most importantly, now she was up, she could go home.

Commander Mormont came back on the day that Sansa was discharged. The family had waited in the visitor waiting room while Sansa and her parents sat in one of the ward doctors offices. It was there that Sansa learned of her attacker and her saviour.

The man that attacked her was a private security guard called Meryn Trant. He had no links to Sansa at all, he'd been filling out his evening log book in his work van when Sansa had stumbled into his path. She was simply an opportunity. She identified him from an old mugshot easily, he'd had brushes with the law before. It was all just formality though; with a witness, CCTV footage of the attack from a storage locker facility close by and the mans blood and skin under Sansas own fingernails. The trial would be quick, quiet and Sansa would not have to even be there, but she would need to submit a victim impact statement.

Sansa had been shocked to hear that he was in the same hospital as her right this minute. Under police guard, obviously.

But really, he wasn't important. Sansa wanted to wipe the man from her memory. What was important was the other man, the one she never saw. The one that had rescued her and put her in attacker in the ICU.

He'd come out of nowhere. He had torn the distracted Trant from her prone form, beaten him into a bloody stain and then called the authorities and had apparently disappeared back into the night. Mormont wouldn't say who he was. The mystery man had insisted on it. Her Hero.

Sansa had to know who her Hero was.

_______________________________ *~~~~~~~~~~~~* ____________________________________

She had been bundled away to Winterfell to heal a bit more. She was coddled and pampered until her bruises faded and her broken bones knitted, though the pinky finger on her left hand was a little bendier than it had been before. She still woke at night in a cold sweat and the echo of her scream reverberating around her old room. Her mum was by her side in a moment when that happened, to hold her close and stroke her hair. She had her Giant Alaskan Malamute, Lady, back with her again and that was a joy. She'd had to leave her behind when she'd moved to the south for college and work in her dad's Kings Landing offices, most landlords would not allow such a large animal in their buildings. She slept across the foot of Sansas bed like a giant, very heavy fur throw rug and made sympathetic whining noises whenever Sansa woke and cried in the night.

Sansa was excused from her job (her dad was one of the partners after all... and her uncles too) and she'd had to put a hold on her study, which chaffed her greatly. She was very conscientious in both her job and her study... missing anything for any length of time was a gnawing worry, she didn't want to get behind or lose her rhythm.

And there was one other thing. Her Hero.

Commander Mormont was the only one who knew who the man was and despite asking nicely for the mans details, she had been politely rebuffed more than once. That gnawed at her also.

But she had an idea who she could possibly persuade to help her, she just needed to return to Kings Landing to work on him.

She sort of remembered her Hero (yes, she did call him that in her mind), only vaguely recalled the dark shadow falling on her as she blacked out. He was big. She imagined tall, dark and handsome. Like a knight. But that didn't really matter, she just wanted to thank him face to face, this mysterious and heroic stranger who came riding to her rescue in the dead of night and then disappeared without want or need of thanks or reward. It was all terribly romantic.

She had to pry herself away from her parents in the end. Her mother didn't want to let Sansa out of her sight.

Sansa was physically healed. She had a small scar on her forehead up on her hairline, and a small one on her upper lip. They were pink, but she was assured they would fade to pale, almost invisible lines eventually. She still had trouble sleeping but she had manged to stop the screaming. She cried a little, and made sure her mother didn't hear.

She argued that she wouldn't let Meryn Trant nor anyone else keep her in hiding, she refused to cower up north. She needed to get on with her life, or she would never get on with her life. She was a grown up now.

They let her leave.

... Ned Stark suddenly found a reason to temporarily relocate to the Kings Landing offices.

_______________________________ *~~~~~~~~~~~~* ____________________________________

Sansa waited a week once she returned to her apartment before she called Jon.

Jon Snow was her half brother, an indiscretion of her seemingly noble father from early in her parents marriage. Hence her mothers ... discontent. A constant reminder of Neds infidelity.

But Jon was a quiet and respectful young man who had moved to Kings Landing to join the force as soon as he was able. He had always had a good relationship with Uncle Benjen and had decided to follow his law enforcement influence. He was a beat cop, who was more often than not found patrolling The Silk Road, the red light district of the capital, breaking up fights and keeping a watchful eye out for violence against the working girls in the area.

Sansa had not had the best relationship with him while growing up but once she had moved south she had seen that her opinions of her brother had been entirely formed by her mother. Jon was a wonderful young man and they were now the best of friends. She had even introduced him to his current girlfriend, Ygritte. She was a member of an online group that practised Northern traditions which Sansa had found that she missed once she was ensconced in the capital. Ygritte had hated Jon at first and had never missed the opportunity to tell him how stupid he was. He'd worn her down though.

Sansa was a regular visitor to Jons precinct. She enjoyed baking. She wasn't a fan of eating her wares though and the fruits of her labours found their way into the stations break room. It was what found her there on the morning after Jon had come off the night beat with huge tupperware containers of warm bacon and egg tartlets and cool, decadent honey squares. Jons partner Sam was overjoyed to see her.

She tried to be subtle about what she wanted but Jon saw right through her straight away.

"That's way out of my jurisdiction Sans... cummon." He said tiredly. He looked exhausted, it must have been a long night. This would work in Sansas favour, his guard would be down. "and anyway, I would never have been assigned to your case.. conflict of interest." He grumbled dismissively, slumping into his desk chair.

"I just want to say thank you, is that too much to ask?" Sansa probed gently, holding his gaze, her own eyes pleading.

"Sans, I can't."

"But you know though...don't you, Jon."

...and then it started.

Oh gods! The pleading, the begging, the big blue eyes, the trembling bottom lip. She was pulling out all of the big guns. Jon sighed under the onslaught, she wasn't going to stop until she found out. He drew a deep resigned breath and held up his hand interrupting a well executed bout of weeping.

"No, I don't know, I never needed to know." He soothed her, "but I can find out."

Sansa peeped excitedly as he ran his hands over his face and dug his palms into his eye sockets. Their dad was going to kill him.

"Gimme an hour or so" He said softly, exhaustion colouring his tone. "meet me at that Braavosi coffee place on Blackwater Ave, I'll pull your file and see who this guy is."

Sansa had lit up like the sun "Oh, Thank you Jon, Thank you." She effused, grasping his hand and looking up at his slate grey eyes. She was almost sobbing in gratitude. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"Yeah well, when I'm fired and miss my rent payments, you can let me sleep on your tiny awful couch or something." Jon grimaced as he stood from his desk only to be enveloped in a Sansa hug where she continued to mumble thanks into his neck. He patted her shoulder tenderly and huffed a tired laugh.

_______________________________ *~~~~~~~~~~~~* ____________________________________

An hour and twenty five minutes later, Jon Snow shoved his way into the cafe, all signs of the long, gruelling shift he had just finished were gone. His eyes were hard and alert as they scanned the popular and busy coffee house and the frown he wore deepened when they landed on his half sister.

He strode towards her with a look of grim purpose. Sansa stayed seated as she watched his progress with trepidation, fiddling with her recycled cardboard coffee cup. Something was wrong.

Jon whipped out the chair opposite her and sat down swiftly, leaning forwards, his earnest face serious and troubled and his elbows all but digging into the tabletop before him.

"I want your word." He said without preamble, "Your WORD, that you will not contact this man."

Sansa blinked at him.

"I'm not kidding, Sansa." Jon grated. "He's not some hero. In fact, he's the opposite."

"But Jon, he saved me" Sansa pleaded. "whoever he is, he saved..."

"You can be grateful or whatever..." Jon interrupted. He yanked a roughly folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and slapped it on the table, making Sansa jump. He kept is hand flat on top of the paper and leaning even further forwards. "This guy is dangerous, maybe more dangerous than that Trant bastard."

Sansa stared at her half brother. How can that be? Trant was a violent rapist (almost). Her Hero wasn't. Jon had to be being overly cautious.

"What do you want me to say, Jon?" she asked meekly, "I just... I need to say thank you, that's all." Her mind raced for the answer. She glanced down at the slightly smudged crumple of paper on the table top, held securely under Jons sure hand. It held the answer. He was right there, Her Hero, she just needed Jon to let her see him.

"It doesn't have to be face to face." She gasped a little desperately. "I can write a letter... right? You can pass on a letter? or give me an address to send it to? I won't have to meet him. You have to understand, Jon..."

"You won't meet him face to face...ever." Jon spat. "no return addresses, no cell numbers, no facetime, social media, nothing. Do you understand? You write your letter, I will get it to him and that is the end of it. Right?" He sat back and fixed her with a warning glare.

Sansa nodded jerkily, her mouth slightly ajar. He snorted roughly and nodded as well.

"Here's your hero." Jon shoved the paper across the table to her and watched her gingerly reach for it.

She took it up and unfolded it slowly.

Her cornflower blue eyes opened wide in shock as the picture was revealed.

It was a mugshot.

A grainy, black and white, hastily photocopied picture of a beastly looking, monster of a man. What was wrong with his face? She grimaced in disgust.

Jon had leaned back in his chair watching the expressions play over her face in satisfaction.

"His name is Sandor Clegane." He said. "Violent career criminal and current president of The Westermen."

Sansa tore her eyes away from the horrid picture and looked up at him with an expression of distress. Clegane? The Westermen? She should be dead.

"Guy's got a rap sheet longer than some novels, been in prison twice. His brother, Gregor Clegane is the one on death row, the one from the news and they're like peas in a pod." Jon continued.

"I- I don't understand." Sansa stuttered, as she looked back down at Sandor Cleganes awful picture. "Why would someone like him help me?"

Jon shrugged and then slumped his shoulders, a wave of fatigue hitting him like a tsunami. "I dunno, Sans. Listen. I gotta go. I'm done in." His voice gentled and he reached for Sansas hand. "Write your thank you. I'll get it to him somehow."

Sansa nodded absently, not looking up from the mugshot.

Jon stood and began to make his way out of the coffee house. He looked back and Sansa was still staring at the picture, her bottom lip quivering a little. She wasn't going to go anywhere near that guy. Jon was confidant. Sansa was sweet and delicate, and Clegane was her worst nightmare personified. He was a little sorry to have upset her, he wished that her hero was someone nice.

He shook his head tiredly and shouldered out of the cafe leaving his sister staring at a monster.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Clegane.

The Westermen.

Could it have been worse?

Everyone in Westeros and beyond knew who Gregor 'The Mountain' Clegane was. He was worse than any animal or creature that one could imagine. There was a good reason he was locked in the black cells waiting to be put down. If there was an atrocity or perversion that he was not guilty of, Sansa couldn't imagine what it could be... and that was very good thing, no one needed nightmares like that, least of all her. She remembered watching the news when he was dragged by a whole squad of men from the courtroom after being sentenced to death by Judge Martell. The death sentence was never given these days but The Mountain was a special case. A psychopath in every sense of the word. It was the reason why the case had been so sensationalised the world over.

He was a giant of a man. Bigger than any human being she had ever seen, if he was human at all. He was almost eight feet tall, muscular and even watching the clip of him on the internet, straining against the courtroom guards, his face and eyes were empty of anything that could classify as even remotely human. A Mountain indeed, she shuddered.

The Westermen were his 'gang'. Sansa wasn't sure if 'gang' was the right word anymore. It composed the picture of a group of young punks loitering on street corners flipping coins with match sticks hanging out of their mouths. The Westermen were more like a hostile army of criminals and thugs who haunted the roads of Westeros on fleets of motorcycles; an invading force, pillaging the land and terrifying the natives.

Sansa snuggled deeper into the fluffy duvet and pillow nest that she had made on her couch and looked from her tablet to the scrunched up bit of paper laying next to her. She had been thinking long and hard ever since Jon had left her alone in the Braavosi Coffee house by the Bay. She had examined the picture of Sandor Clegane for days now, taking every detail in and analysing it and mulling it over in her mind.

Sandor Clegane looked like his brother in many ways. They were both big. The height gauge in the mugshot had him standing at six foot, ten inches tall. The Mountain was almost a full foot taller than that, but was 6'10" anything to sniff at? Absolutely not!

They were both dark: Sandors hair was long, lank and jet black. Gregors: short and close cropped, hugging his skull like a black cap. Their skin was swarthy and sun scorched.

Their faces were similar: large, slightly hooked noses, high cheek bones, defined chins covered in dark black beards. There were a couple of very distinct differences. Their eyes were completely different. They must have been the same colour, though Sandor Cleganes picture was in black and white, they were listed as grey on his description, the same as Gregors but Gregors were... wrong... devoid of life, emotion, anything. Sandors eyes, even in the picture were filled with rage as he scowled at the officer taking his picture, but there was something else there as well, something undefinable and compelling. Sansa had spent quite some time examining his eyes.

And then there were the scars.

She had determined that they were burns and her mind shrunk from the pain that must have accompanied acquiring them. They covered the entire side of his head. The deep ridges and whorls of puckered skin stretched from his neck, over his jaw right up to past his hairline, it traversed almost to his nose across his cheeks, pulled at one of his deep eyes. It looked like it had devoured one of his ears but it was hard to tell under the skein of long hair that was draped over it all, possibly in an effort to hide it. The scars looked glossy and raw, though they were obviously old... it looked like there was bone showing through at points. Sansa felt her chest tighten at it. How had he gotten these awful burns? She looked at them carefully, not shying away and she looked over the other unblemished side of his face...OK not unblemished, he had a small cut over his eyebrow. The unburned side could be considered handsome, she had realised with a small smile.

Despite who he was and the terrible scars, he was Tall, Dark and Handsome, just as she had imagined her Hero to be.

And, she thought, Sando Clegane was NOT his brother. Just because he had a little police record, it did not mean that he was a psycho, serial murdering rapist like the Mountain was. She was sure of it. There were no news stories about him on Google, not like the Mountain at least. She could find nothing about him aside from casual mentions of him in related Westerman stories.

Sansa had written her letter and given it to Jon. She had worried over it, stressed and near cried. It wasn't right. She couldn't get the words to sound right. They looked perfunctory and bland on the page and did not in anyway convey how she felt. There was no inflection, no caught voice or tear filled eyes... all were present while she had laboured over the letter but none of it came out in the written words. The sincerity had been leeched from it along with the personality. It wasn't right and it wasn't enough. It was detached, cold... It was polite.

He had saved her. It should be more than polite.

She hadn't specifically promised Jon that she wouldn't see Sandor Clegane. If she could find a way to meet him... in a public place, she would do so, she resolved. Just to say thank you. In person... as it should be.

She turned off her tablet, the image of Gregor Clegane and his empty eyes making her ill and stared at Sandors Mugshot. She gave an emphatic nod.

\--------------------------------- *~~~~~~~~~~* ------------------------------------

It had taken her five days of phone calls, emails and research to find an address. Her dad thought that she was catching up with filing and tidying up after her long absence, re-familiarising herself with the clients and new developments after hours. She was a little ashamed that she had used company resources and the company name to secure her information but she hadn't used company time... that was something, wasn't it? Her dad wasn't any the wiser about what she had really been doing after she had officially clocked out and she didn't think it would get back to him.

It wasn't a home address but according to the legal aid office, it was his last known address. They hadn't asked why an accountancy and financial advisory office was asking for the personal details for a convicted felon and for once it didn't grate on Sansas nerves. Their incompetency and indiscretion worked in her favour.

The Keep. A road house on Casterly Road just outside of Kings Landing. It was rural, near on the middle of nowhere but she didn't hesitate.

She left the office on the Friday evening, scooted into her car and set off into the sunset. She drove swiftly, one hand on the wheel and the other fidgeting with the hem on her skirt. She should have changed first. She looked a little formal in her seafoam coloured suit and cream, open collared shirt.

She checked her GPS furtively, she was driving outside of the city limits now and she hadn't done that by herself before... but she was grown woman, she could drive on the open road by herself... surely.

She looked carefully for her turn off from the Kings Road. It was much further out of the city than she had thought as she eventually spotted the Gold Road turn off sign, taking it she then watched for the road house, which should have been on the corner of Gold and Casterly. She was feeling nervous and excited and a little scared but she still didn't doubt what she was about to do was the right thing.

The GPS advised that her turn off was coming up and she slowed the car. But it wasn't a road. It was a goat track... It wasn't even sealed.

She stopped the car and gazed down the 'road'. Sure enough, sheltered amongst some willows on the roadside, was a faded sign very much in need of replacing, reading Casterly Road.

Sansa glanced at her center console for the time. The sun had set and twilight had descended, she hadn't thought it would take so long to get out here. She ruefully put her car into gear and started down the dirt road, the lights of the Gold Road behind her receding and up ahead the glow of new lights became evident, she sighed in relief. It wasn't so far.

She pulled into the parking lot, if it could be described as that. It was a large patch of flattened shingle filled to overflowing with boorish looking motorbikes. Not the slick colourful street bikes from the city, but rather giant hogs, some with big handlebars that looked like massive animal horns. They were the kinds of bikes that grunted rather than hummed. The yard was lit by a single flickering street lamp.

And then there was the Bar itself.

Bar? More like large hovel.

Make no mistake the place was big. It was a wooden building with a wide, long veranda along the whole front, where the roof sagged slightly at the far end, there were a few dirty looking mismatched pieces of furniture on it with beer crates and such acting as side tables with overflowing ashtrays and empty beer bottle scattered everywhere.

The place was only dimly lit up and there was a lot of noise coming from the inside but there was no music like one would expect from a busy bar. She saw the reason when she spotted a broken old jukebox laying on its side in the shingle just on the other side of the balcony railing and just below a boarded up window. It looked like it had recently been thrown out. She frowned. It wasn't exactly welcoming.

Welcome or not, she was here and she was not going to back out now. She injected her spine with the steel and flooded her veins with the blood of the North. Stark! she thought as she strode up the creaking stairs. Stark! she thought as she pushed on the Bar room door.

Sansa froze on the threshold. The inside was even worse than the outside promised to be. 

It was dingy. That was the politest way to describe it. Dingy. The brightest light seemed to be coming from an old fluorescent "Dornish Sour" sign than pulsed from behind the tall bar, next to which was a large display of empty domestic beer bottles (vintage and contemporary) covered in layers of dust and protected haphazardly by a chicken wire screen. The whole place was filled to the brim with leather and denim clad bikers. Never in her whole life has she seen such a condensed assembly of tattoos, piercings and facial hair. Sansa gulped as each and everyone of them turned towards the door and subsequently... her.

She tugged self consciously on the bottom of her seafoam coloured, impeccably tailored suit jacket before setting her jaw, squaring her shoulders and marching up to the towering barman like the Stark that she was.

The floor was sticky.

"Excuse me, sir?" Sansa called politely to the mans broad back over the bar.

The barman swiveled at the waist and looked down at Sansa... glared down at Sansa.

Sansa started. Oh My Gosh. It's a woman

"You lost?" The barmaid (barwoman... barperson?) grated at her, looking her up and down with undisguised derision. "Don't have a public phone."

"Oh-no, excuse me, sir... uh... ma'am" Sansa replied awkwardly, still trying to be as polite as can be. "I was hoping to find a gentleman named Sandor Clegane. I was led to understand that he frequented this..uh... establishment" She smiled nervously and hoped her nerves weren't showing through too much in her face or in her quivering voice.

The tall, muscular, blonde woman behind the bar snorted incredulously. "Gentleman?!"

Reclining on a barstool next to Sansa, a thoroughly disreputable looking rogue of a man with upswept black hair and a close cropped goatee tipped his head up towards the ceiling.

"Hound!" He called loudly, projecting his voice around the noisy bar room. "Hooooound!" He called again, drawing out the word and ending in a long, mournful sounding howl.

The whole bar suddenly erupted into a riotous cacophony of barking, braying and howls. Sansa shrunk back against the bar as brawny bikers stomped their feet on the hollow sounding wooden floor and thumped their fists on the tops of the solid tables and bar leaners. The word 'hound' repeated over and over again. Until, over the din one voice thundered out, eclipsing them all.

"What the fuck are you cunts on about!?" it roared.

The room quieted instantly, like someone had hit a mute button and all eyes turned back to the timid looking red head pressed up against the bar.

The man who had started the whole ruckus picked up his beer bottle and leaned up against the bar.

"Hound." He called insolently. "There's some bird here to see you."

He tipped the bottle in her direction before lifting it to his lips and taking a long draft. Sansa meanwhile was as immobile and wide eyed as a deer in the headlights awaiting certain death.

Sandor Clegane was enormous!

Seeing an A4 black and white headshot was one thing. Seeing the real thing, even across a crowded bar, was something quite different. Quite terrifying. She suddenly wished that she had heeded Jons warning.

'Six foot ten' his description had said. It did not compute until right this minute. His shoulders and chest were nearly as wide as her Nissan Micra and underneath the grimy looking long sleeved tee shirt, sleeves shucked up to the elbows and the aged black leather vest, covered in patches, he was as muscular as one of those giant Belgian Blue bulls that she had read about.

She immediately wanted to run away as he glowered at her from across the room. She wanted to toe off her sensible low heels and hoof it right out of the door when he started towards her, mean looking bikers melting out of his path, knowing that any obstacles between him and his target would be mown down if they remained there and for all that he looked like a giant lumbering beast, he moved smoothly, almost gracefully and obviously in full command of himself and his surroundings. As he closed in on her, she found her head to be tipping backwards further and further in order to politely (always politely) and respectfully maintain eye contact until he was standing right in front of her and her face was nearly parallel to the ceiling.

So tall. She blinked stupidly up at him... her mind suddenly blank of her courtesies and filled instead with only him and his overwhelming presence.

He stared back down at her.

So very tall. So very large. And so very close.

"I didn't think to ask her if she had an appointment." She absently heard the dark haired man beside her drawl.

"Shut up, Bronn." The giant man growled. His voice was raspy and dark like he had crawled out of the seven hells and had just coughed up fire and brimstone. His eyes bored into her so intensely she felt scarred by them.

The world seemed to be holding it's breath as the two of them stared at each other.

Sansa took a shuddering breath and lifted her hand, desperately trying to suppress the tremor in it and failing miserably.

"M-mister Clegane" She whispered shakily, haltingly. "Y-you may not remember me... I'm Sansa Stark..." Her voice petered out under the heaviness of his gaze.

The man named Bronn snorted into his beer. "Mister Clegane..." he murmured in amusement earning a warning glare from the towering mister in question.

He glared back down at her out stretched hand in disgust before turning the intense gaze back on her face.

"Do I look like a mister to you?" He growled.

Sansa snatched her hand back and clasped it in front of her along with the other, twisting her fingers together nervously. She raised her eyes back to his. They were like a stormy sky, a deep swirling maelstrom... completely unfathomable and ominous. She had seen his mugshot, studied it, and had been prepared for his horrific facial scaring, his long dark hair, his overall intimidating and frankly scary appearance but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of his eyes. They rendered her dumb.

She gasped in shock and fear as his massive fist suddenly shot out and enclosed her arm and he began to unceremoniously drag her towards the exit. She stumbled along behind him just trying to maintain her footing as he shoved the door open, pulled her through and all but tossed her into the parking lot amongst the bikes. The interior of the bar ignited into cheers and cat calls in their wake.

She teetered and almost fell but his giant paws were on her shoulders steadying her before twirling her abruptly and leaning down, bringing his scarred face much too close for her constitution.

"What the fuck are you doing here, you stupid little bint?" He hissed lowly. "You think you can just swan into a place like this in your pretty little suit and dainty little heels and expect to swan back out again unscathed?"

He yanked one of his hands through his lanky hair and drew back from her.

"I know who you are, you shouldn't be here, these people are scum." He growled darkly, he threw is hand out to indicate the bar.

"Aren't they your friends?" She jabbered uselessly.

"No, They're scum." He grunted, "and I'm their leader... the worst of the lot of them."

He glared down at her, his unscarred side lost to the shadows and he looked like a monster.

"You need to leave. A pretty little thing like you doesn't belong here."

Sansa gathered her waning courage and kept eye contact.

"I will go, " She said softly, a watery smile on her lips, "when I've said my piece."

He snorted, crossed his massive arms across his torso and leaned his hip against one of the choppers behind him.. He glared down at her impatiently.

"I just wanted to say thank you..."

"Oh, Fuck" He groaned, rolling his eyes insultingly.

She sent him an icy glare of her own and cleared her throat.

"I just wanted to say..." She grated, her ire raising just a little bit. "Thank you for interceding in my rape and most likely murder."

Clegane stood to his full height and sneered down at her.

"I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't been flitting around in a shit part of town, in the middle of the night, dressed like a whore." He ranted. "Stupid twats like you really do my fucking head in. You just make it so easy for the cunts of the world, don't you... pissing out rainbows and thinking nothing can touch you."

He turned away from her and started stomping back towards the bars entrance, his parting words were thrown back over his shoulder.

"Flit home, little bird... You're welcome, now fuck off."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sansas normal modus operandi in such situations would have been to burst into tears and flee - run off home, burrow under her voluminous duvet and obsess over the very harsh slight that she had just suffered, eventually burying her woes in ice cream and repeat viewings of Sense and Sensibility and sniffling about it every now and then.

Today was not that day.

Today she had just been insulted in the highest order. THAT MAN had called her a bint and a twat and a whore and ... AND... had told her to fuck off! She'd never in her whole twenty years been told to fuck anything, let alone off. How dare he.

She'd just wanted to thank him and here he was, victim shaming her for something that was beyond her control. She hadn't gone out to Flea Bottom Road on a whim. How DARE HE!

After a beat of pure statuesque shock, Sansa Stark growled like an annoyed northern wolf, roughly yanked on the bottom of her jacket to straighten some imagined wrinkle and stormed into the bar after him.

"Hey, Hound!" She shouted over the noise of the bar which still consisted of cat calls and whistles, this time at the 'Hounds' back as he retreated to back from whence he had slunk from earlier.

He halted mid step and turned towards her, eyes wide. The bar had quieted again but Sansa didn't even notice, she was so incensed.

"Just who in the seven do you think you are?" Sansa bellowed. She was unaccustomed to raising her voice and she surprised herself by just how forceful she sounded. "You have no gods-damned idea what you are talking about, you... you Dog!"

The whole population of the bar swiveled their heads as one towards the 'Hound' to observe his reaction. Many had beverages hovering half way to their mouths.

Clegane narrowed his eyes and snorted, much like bull would right before charging. And sure enough he strode swiftly towards her, crossing the bar room with no intention of slowing before he reached her, a menacing scowl etched deeply into his face. In fact, he didn't stop when he reached her: He stooped slightly, wrapped his arms around her waist in very tackle like maneuver, lifted her and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He then continued straight out of the door again with Sansas shapely bottom exposed to the entire Westermen gang. By the sound of the hoots that followed their abrupt exit, they enjoyed the sight very much.

Sansa pummeled the horrid giants back with her fists but she might as well have been punching a brick wall for all the good it did her. He didn't stop until he reached her little car out in the parking lot where he lowered her, much more gently than she would have expected, back onto her feet. Sansas face was burning crimson and not just from the embarrassment at having her bum exposed to all and sundry but also in fury. He had lay his filthy, uncouth HANDS on her. HOW DARE HE!

She shoved at him with all of her might as soon as she was able (he didn't budge) and then adjusted all of her clothing to their proper order. When she finally looked up at him again, his face was impassive with a slight twitch in the shriveled cheek of the burned side. He drew breath to speak, but she was having none of it.

"I'll have you know," She spat angrily, ignoring the unceremonious change of venue for her vent. "that I am none of those disgusting names that you had the temerity to call me. I was not dressed like a whore. I was in a pretty dress that was completely appropriate for the wedding reception that I had been attending. I was NOT soliciting in an abandoned industrial park. I had been dumped by my ex boyfriend and left on the side of the road with no way to call for assistance, which I would have done. And if you think for one minute that a woman alone is just begging to be raped and murdered, then you are just as vile as the creature that tried to do just that. I came here to thank you for your timely assistance on what was the worst night of my life, but I see now that I shouldn't have bothered. You are a hateful man. Good night, sir!"

Sansa steamrolled to her conclusion vehemently and turned her back on him towards her little Micra and fumbled in her pocket for the transponder. She patted at her pockets, becoming more and more agitated. She only had two pockets. Where could it be? Her transponder was ruining her dramatic departure. She clutched at the car door handle, fruitlessly wrenching at it in the hope that she had left it unlocked. Nope, no such luck.

She stopped fluttering around, the wind going out of her sails quite quickly. She slumped her shoulders and her eyes filled with frustrated tears. She crossed her arms over the roof of her locked car and she buried her face in them, letting her tears fall. What did it matter if some awful beast saw her cry.

There was the crunch of heavy foot steps on shingle receding behind her. Good, he was leaving her to her misery, she sniffled.

A moment later the foot steps returned and her car 'blip-bleeped' to life, her door unlocking with a click.

She raised her head as her transponder was placed carefully on the car roof next to her elbow.

"Go home, little bird." He rasped softly in her ear.

And then he was gone, those heavy crunching footfalls leaving her again, stomping up the couple of stairs to the veranda. The was a brief cheer as he opened the squeaky door of the bar, silenced quickly with a angry growl of "Shut the fuck up." and then the door thudded closed.

Sansa was alone in the dark parking lot, listening to the moths 'tink tink' against the glass of the lone street lamp and the now subdued murmur of the biker bar behind her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. What had she expected? Jon had warned her and she had ignored him, picturing some fantasy where her Hero graciously accepted her thanks, they'd hugged or something similar and then they parted ways with lighter hearts and a budding friendship.

She resignedly slid into her car, flicked it into gear and sadly made her way back to Kings Landing.

\------------------------------------------- *~~~~~~~~~~~~~* -------------------------------------------------

She tried to put it behind her, the whole sordid episode. Obviously, some parts were easier to ignore than others.

Meryn Trants trial and sentencing went by without a hitch. Her parents attended and her mother had read Sansas victim impact statement to the court. He was convicted of assault and would only serve six months, but that was something... wasn't it?

Sansas tried to go back to her normal life.

She picked up her studies. She had missed a lot and would have to pick up an extra paper to make her grades and submit extra assignments, but her lecturers took pity on her and took her circumstances into account.

She continued working at the office as per normal... life had resumed.

It was two weeks after the disastrous "The Keep on Casterly Road" episode that she was sifting through the Cerwyn account when things became ... inconvenient.

The Cerwyns portfolio spilled itself all over her desk. Sheafs and sheafs of paper... numbers on numbers. Investments, trusts and not a single one in order. Why had it taken the wealthy northern family so long to get assistance with their finances. The taxes alone. Sansa shuddered.

She was gratified that her father trusted her so implicitly with the arduous and at times, brain melting work, but really... His friends had some answering to do.

Her head was down, yellow highlighter in hand...

"Ummm... Excuse me, Miss Stark." A timid wee voice stuttered from the doorway of her office.

Sansa looked up quickly to acknowledge her visitor and smiled warmly as she looked back down at her printouts.

"What can I do for you, Jeyne?" She inquired a little absently as her eyes scanned the lines of numbers for yet another inconsistency.

"Miss Stark..." Jeyne wrung her hands together nervously. "There's a very large man at reception who insists on seeing you."

Sansas eyes darted up to meet the deathly pale face of the Tully, Stark & Umber Accounting and Financial Services receptionist.

"Very Large," Jeyne whispered in emphasis, her eyes quite round with fright.

Sansas mouth suddenly went very dry and her heart began to flutter in her chest. Her eyes went very round as well.

He had come HERE? Sandor Clegane was perched in one of the rose and teal tub chairs in the client waiting area?... With the current issues of House & Garden and Boating Quarterly? There were peonies in there, for Gods sake!

Sansa stared dumbly at Jeyne for a long time. Would his massive frame even fit in one of the minuscule tub chairs?

"Miss Stark?" Jeynes voice squeaked queerly, jolting Sansa out of her glassy-eyed reverie. "Shall I call security?"

Sansa shook her head and leaped out of her chair in a rush causing Jeyne to start.

"No, thank you Jeyne." She said, her soft voice breathy and quivering. "I've got this." No one needed to die today.

She straightened her already pristine dusky pink suit jacket and smoothed her skirt down before all but stumbling past Jeyne into the corridor. She somehow managed to cover the distance to reception on her shaky legs without her stomach falling to the floor nor her heart jumping out of her chest and sure enough, through the glass divider, she saw all (nearly) seven foot of brawn and biker that was Sandor Clegane.

He stood in the very center of the area, not even attempting to squeeze into the rose coloured tub chair, filling and overwhelming the space like a dark vengeful wraith, only solid... really, really solid... and big... and dark. He was in grubby black jeans and the same long sleeved tee shirt with the sleeves shucked up his ropey, thick forearms. The black leather vest with 'Westermen' writ large on the back hugged his rock hard torso. He had a black bandanna wrapped around his head and a pair of dark sunglasses covering his ominous eyes even though he was indoors... propriety be damned, it seemed.

Nothing had ever looked more out of place than this man in this space.

There was a large vase of vibrant pink peonies directly in front of him on the corner of Jenyes kiosk style desk, filling the air with a delightful fragrance. His lip on the unburned side hitched in a distasteful sneer as he looked on it... His long hair looked limp as if he had smeared it with motor oil before he had come.

Sansa also spied Mrs Stockworth, one of Jon Umbers best clients, sitting as primly as was possible while pressed back into the teal coloured tub chair with her LuLu Guinness handbag (the emerald coloured one that her daughters had bought for her in an effort to make her look cool) clutched tightly in her lap as if she thought that he might snatch it from her and she stood some chance of somehow stopping him if he did. The poor dears knuckles were bone white, her face pinched with the effort of not looking terrified and instead coming off as looking constipated.

What in the name of all that was holy was THAT MAN doing here at Sansas place of work? How did he even know where she worked?

As if sensing her presence, the big man turned his head towards her. He raised his overlarge mitt and removed his sunglasses, hitting her with the full force of his stormy glare.

Sansa gulped and pulled open the glass door that separated them. She stepped through.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The pleasant scent of peonies in perfect bloom should have filled the air.

It didn't.

Instead, the reception area of Tully, Stark & Umber was tainted with the odour sweat, stale booze and a general underlying whiff of fear. Sansa assumed the last was coming from Mrs Stockworth.

Sansa boldly (with entirely fabricated courage) stepped up to Sandor Clegane and held out her hand.

"Mr Clegane." She greeted, her voice surprisingly steady and professional. There was a shocked gasp from both Jeyne and Mrs Stockworth at the sound of his name. Mrs Stockworth eased out of her chair and sidestepped out of the reception area and made for the elevators.

Clegane held her gaze and made no move to take her hand... again. He was so rude.

"Miss Stark." He grunted.

Sansa dropped her hand to her side and awkwardly shuffled her feet.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Sir?" Sansa asked politely, slamming down her private school breeding to hide her unease at having this hulking brute in her personal space.

Clegane leaned down towards her stopping when his eyes were even with hers.

"I think I've already said; I'm not a mister or a sir, save all that shit for someone useless and fancy." He growled at her.

Sansa took a step back from him but his hand whipped out and wrapped around her upper arm and bought her right back towards him.

"What is this?" He spat.

His free hand inserted an envelope in between his face and hers. It was powder blue and smelled of lily of the valley. She knew that envelope, she had an entire stationary set just like it at home.

"That, Mr... ahh, San... Sir."Sansa floundered, what should she call him? "ahh Clegane. "That is my - your letter." She finished haltingly.

"Why?" He demanded angrily, "You said thank you. You came to my fucking road house. You already put yourself in stupid, reckless danger and peeped your thank yous."

"I - I wrote the letter first." she mumbled.

"Then why the fuck did you come out to The KEEP?" He shouted, making Sansa quail before him. Her heart began to beat erratically and her breath began to come in pants.

"It wasn't enough." She cried, trying to pull her arm out from his iron clad grasp "It wasn't enough. You don't understand."

She began to yank her arm and struggle against him, desperate to get out of his hold. He was too close, too overwhelming and it was all way too familiar. He let go of her abruptly and she stumbled back into the desk behind her, the edge digging into her back painfully. She slid down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, burying her face from sight. Tears pooling and spilling from her tightly clenched eyes. She began to rock, not aware that she was gasping "you don't understand, it wasn't enough" over and over again.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and tried to scramble away from it. Anything to get away. RUN.

"Shhh, Little Bird." A dark, rasping voice whispered gently as a pair of strong arms came around her, pulling her towards a rock hard chest. "I've got you, Little Bird, you'll be alright now."

She let out a pitiable wail and threw her arms around his wide shoulders burying her face in his dirty tee shirt and blubbering, choking on her sobs. And he held her... Hunkered down on the floor of the reception area of Tully, Stark & Umber, the notorious younger Clegane brother held Sansa Stark as she cried, coming down from her first ever panic attack. He stroked the back of her head, around the no-nonsense bun that secured her lustrous auburn hair and her back, over the silky texture of her cute dusky pink suit. He rocked her gently as she slowly calmed, gulping in deep draughts of oxygen as she did. All the while, whispering indistinct words of comfort in a gravelly rasp.

The air tasted like him and it was strangely soothing. The sweat wasn't too bad, not stale or rank and the booze was in his clothes rather than on his breath. There was a metallic tang about him, like oil and brake fluid and well... motorcycles. There was the musty smell of old leather and some kind of masculine soap. But most noticeable of all, there was the scent of something wild. Something free.

Best of all, the most comforting of all; There was no scent of strawberry candy, no musky cologne and when she peeked up at him, the eyes were the colour of a stormy sky, not whiskey.

She drew in a long shaky breath as the last of her sobs quieted, she could breath again. The tight band of anxiety that had clutched at her heart loosened and she smiled weakly at him. He stared back down at her.

"What's going on in here?" A deep baritone broke through the newly minted silence.

Sansa swung her head around and up to the glass doorway that lead into the offices to find it filled with Jon Umber, Jeyne hovered behind him, her white face peeking out around his side.

My Goodness! What a picture they must have painted. Sansa huddled on the floor, wedged in between the front desk and a giant biker. Her skirt scrunched up around her thighs, tears and worse smeared across her face, which was no doubt blotchy and unbecoming. And her hair? What must her hair look like?

And there was a Clegane encompassing it all.

Sansa lurched up to her feet, adjusting her skirt and suit as she did so. She felt a large warm hand on the small of her back, steadying her as she ascended so hastily.

"Oh, Mr Umber. So sorry." Sansa stuttered. "I had a bit of an episode and Mr... ahh... San, this man.. helped me calm. I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Jon Umber looked suspiciously between Sansa and Clegane as he regained his feet and straightened beside her more slowly and with a lot more finesse.

"Are you alright, Sansa?" Jon Umber asked, consternation colouring his tone.

"I'm fine now, sir." She assured him calmly. "I will just walk Cleg... my visitor out and tidy myself up, sir. With your permission, sir."

Jon Umber stared at her for a long while, his eyes boring into her trying to discern distress beyond what he had seen when he had arrived. Sansa looked calm now, if unkempt. He flicked a look at Sandor Clegane, narrowed his eyes and then looked back at Sansa, nodding sharply.

"Don't be long." He rumbled. "expect a word with your father when you return."

Sansa grimaced and nodded before turning to Clegane.

"If you'd accompany me." she said politely indicating the way out.

Clegane shot a scowl at Umber before preceding her out of the office and into the sixteenth floor lobby and elevator pool. Once there, she reached out and touched his arm.

"If I may just have a moment to put myself in order, Mr..San..Cleg." she stumbled over her words again. She huffed in frustration. Where had her elocution lessons disappeared off too? Her mother would be so disappointed.

"My name is Sandor." He rasped simply. "and go ahead."

She smiled up at him and nodded making for the ladies room. As she pushed inside she came face to face with Mrs Stockworth. Hiding the bathroom. How puerile.

"Sansa dear, are you well?" She hurried over and took hold of Sansas hands. "How dreadfully upsetting. What a scene. You look a fright dear, not surprising. What a savage, you must be quite beside yourself"

Sansa was under no illusion that Mrs Stokeworth wouldn't be chatting merrily about the 'scene' that occurred in her accountants office at brunch in the morning, if she could wait that long. Her live in daughters would know within the hour. Sansa Stark would be the talk of The Kings Landing Ladies Society before the week was out.

Sansa sighed heavily.

"I'm fine Mrs Stokeworth, no need to trouble yourself." Sansa assured her as politely as she could.

Mrs Stokeworth patted her hand sympathetically and looked up as the door of the ladies room opened behind Sansa. She instantly paled, groped for her handbag and bustled out, squeezing past the large man that filled the ladies room doorway. Leaving Sansa alone with the perceived 'savage'.

Sansa raised her eyebrows as Clegane wandered into the ladies room with an air of discontent.

"What's taking so long?" He asked roughly. "You're alright?"

"Yes." Sansa replied. "I was waylaid, I apologise for the delay. Please bear with me."

Clegane sniffed. "You're too formal and polite, you should say what you think. Tell me to mind my own fucking business." he chuffed out a laugh... at least, Sansa thought it was a laugh, it could have been a cough.

"Fucking Hells... this is a shitter?" He looked around the ladies room with a sneer. "looks like a fucking palace."

Sansa giggled in surprise and lifted her hand to cover her turned up lips. Clegane glanced at her, his burned cheek twitched. Sansa dipped her head and quickly turned towards the mirrors, letting out a gasp. She looked simply ghastly.

Her eye make up had run (waterproof, pah!) and her face was streaked with tear tracks and what she imagined to be mucus. She had grease or whatever Clegane had on his tee shirt scuffed all over her forehead from where she had burrowed against him and she was right about her hair, what a fright! It alternated between sticking up and slathered down, her tight bun had come loose and hung haphazardly at her nape. Her face was blotchy, her eyes burning red and blood shot. Sansa despaired, almost wanting to cry again. People had witnessed this!

Sansa quickly turned on the taps and leaned over to splash her face with the cool, soothing water. She bathed her eyes and washed off the aftermath of her meltdown. As she blindly groped for the paper hand towels, her fingers encountered soft fabric instead. She cracked an eyelid and saw a large weathered hand before her, offering her a clean handkerchief.

She delicately took it from him with a blush and dabbed at her face. She went to hand it back but he flapped his hand at her dismissively and turned away. She held it out uncertainly and then tucked it into her sleeve. She turned back to the mirror and release her hair, smoothing it back as best she could with no brush.

When she had completed her mediocre repair job, she turned back to Clegane who had taken to watching her silently, almost worryingly so, he did not even seem to be breathing.

"I apologise for that display Mr... Sandor." She offered softly, "I don't know what came over me... quite unforgivable."

Clegane snorted incredulously. "Really? Bloody Hells girl, Seriously?" He shook his head disbelievingly, took a step towards her and then swiftly backed away again.

"Listen." He ran his hand over his face, tugging his hair over his scars as he did. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "I shouldn't have come here. You don't belong at The Keep and I don't belong here. That's all I wanted to say. It's over. Stay away. Got it? Being where you shouldn't is what got you in this shit to begin with."

"I told you why I was there." Sansa interjected. "I wasn't..."

He held up his hand. Crikey, they were big hands.

"Just shut it." He snapped. "I heard you."

There was a light tap on the ladies room door.

"Miss Stark, are you okay?" The muffled voice of one of the buildings security guards wafted through to them.

"Yes Jory, thank you." Sansa called back.

Sansa looked up at Clegane for a moment before reaching down, straightening up her suit again, taking the pause to compose her features and reorganise her courtesies.

"I'd like to thank you Sandor, for your visit today. It was delight to see you again." She smiled with a cool kind of civility. "I shall take your information under advisement." She held out her hand to him.

He glowered down at her extended hand. She sighed inwardly. He was still a part of civilised society, surely he knew what a handshake was, but once again he didn't move to take it so she lowered it again.

He started to speak but she plowed on over him.

"I'd like to once again thank you for any and all services rendered and will bid you good day." She breezed. "I shan't take up any more of your valuable time. If you will excuse me."

She made to ease past him to the door when his hand came and made to grab her arm. It stopped short and hung in mid air for beat without touching her before lowering to his side again.

"Good bye, Miss Stark." He rasped, stepping aside and allowing her a wide berth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any glaring errors, let me know. I will fix them. Ta


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

There was a loud knock at her apartments door and Sansa groaned, burying her face deeply into the couch cushions. She pulled the duvet over her head and hoped fervently that they would just go away, whomever they were.

Sometimes, even though it wasn't polite, one should simply pretend that one wasn't home. Scenes unpleasant could arise when one opened the door to an unwanted guest.

They knocked again.

Really. It was quite rude to keep knocking, they would disturb her neighbours.

"Open the Gods-damned door, Sans. I know you're there."

Sansa closed her eyes guiltily. Jon.

She extricated herself from the tangle of bedding on her sofa and slunk unenthusiastically towards her door, much like a petulant child would. Dragging her feet and everything. She sighed as she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door a crack, peeking out through the tiny gap.

Jons normally agreeable face was sunk in a grumpy looking scowl and he fixed her with a reproachful glare from out in the corridor.

"What did I say?" He growled.

She sighed again... Another scolding. She had not fully recovered from the one from her father. Nor the one from her mother, no less blistering over the phone than her dads in person and at full volume.

They had wanted to ground her. How absolutely mortifying.

She opened the door fully and stepped aside as her half brother thundered through the entrance way.

"I cannot believe that you contacted him, I can't BELIEVE it!" Jon ranted. "And he came to your work... He KNOWS where you work. He probably knows where you live. Stranger take me, you need to pack your stuff and come stay with me. Dad was livid, Cat was beside herself. What were you thinking?"

He wheeled on her, causing Sansa, who was following close behind as he encroached on her apartment, to jump back from him in surprise.

Jons eyes opened wide.

"Oh Gods. Sorry Sans." Jon cried, his face suddenly changing from angry to concerned, misinterpreting her retreat as another panic attack in commencement. Her dad must have told him everything. Humiliating.

Sansa waved her hand in the air.

"I'm not made of porcelain." She almost sneered at him... almost. "It was an unfortunate turn of events but I am well recovered now, thank you."

"How could you contact him, Sansa?" Jon had the look of the betrayed about him, Sansa thought it was a little over the top... Ok no, she thought, it was entirely justified and she felt the harsh stirrings of culpability deep within her.

"I'm sorry Jon." She mumbled, looking down at her feet, wrapped in hot pink bobby socks. "I had to. The letter... "

"It wasn't enough." Jon finished, running his hand over his face in defeat. He'd heard about that too. He went and sat down in her sofa nest and patted the seat beside him. Sansa joined him, sinking into the mass of duvets, pillows and throw cushions.

"I didn't mention you at all, you're not in trouble." Sansa grimaced and kept her eyes on her hands in her lap.

Jon shook his head dismissively.

"I don't even care about that. You put yourself in danger."

"Regardless of what you may have heard," Sansa explained. "Mr Clegane was not the problem today. It's been ages, Jon. I had no idea I would be thrown into a memory like that. I mean, I still have bad dreams but not every night. It was simply a case of Mr Clegane being in the wrong place at the wrong time." She sniffed and looked out of the window. "In fact, he was telling me the same thing you were."

"The same thing?" Jon looked a bit flummoxed.

"Mmmm, he told me not to contact him again." She said it little sadly. "and that I should never have come to The Keep."

Jon started and turned towards her in horrified disbelief. "The Keep?" He choked. "You went to The Keep?"

Sansa nodded, picking at some imaginary lint on her pajama bottoms.

"Alone? You went to Westerman HQ alone? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?" Jon rocketed to his feet and turned on her. Jon cursed very rarely. He must be quite vexed.

Sansa didn't shrink from him, she'd done that enough over the last few months. Instead she held up her hands in mollification.

"I know, I know." she muttered and gave a self depreciating kind of moue "It was at night too. It won't happen again."

Jon ran his hands through his overlong, curly hair and snorted but lowered himself back down onto the sofa.

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place." He grunted.

"Mum and Dad already threatened to disinherit me and lock me in the Winterfell dungeons for the rest of my life...with love, of course."

"Does Winterfell have dungeons?" Jon asked with growing levity in his voice.

"I don't know but I see the potential for renovations in the future if I don't reestablish my ladylike and sensible virtues." Sansa shrugged.

"I'm sure Cat will make them very comfortable and understated." Jon smiled softly.

"Mmmmm tasteful, I'm sure." Sansa agreed.

Jon stayed for some time. If Sansa didn't know for sure that Jon was genuinely concerned for her well being, she would have thought he'd used 'the episode' as an excuse to leech off of her Netflix account. He insinuated himself in the very center of her sofa with remote control in hand and proceeded to ignore her in favour of some crime drama. Ygritte must have been busy tonight.

Sansa moved to her kitchenette and fixed him some toasted sandwiches. Regardless of his lack of invitation, he was still a guest and required refreshments. She was slicing free farmed ham when her cell phone pinged.

**Sansa dear, I heard from Lollys Stokeworth that you were attacked by a gang today. Is it true?**

Margaery... Sansa sighed. The rumour mill was in full effect. That was quick even by their standards. It was comforting to know that some things were as constant and dependable as the stars.

**I'm fine, I wasn't attacked. I had an episode in the presence of a client** OK, not the truth but what business was it of hers.

**Goodness, what a to-do. Oh well, It's been an age, we should go shopping tomorrow. :) **

Sansa smiled, Margaery never let anything get her down for long. Actually, shopping sounded like a fine idea. Sansa could think of a few items that she could do with.

**Excellent plan. Lunch too?**

**Absolutely. Meet at Harbour Masters, they have a new menu.**

**Done. Noon?**

**Noon. Kisses Darling <3**

Sans grinned and placed her phone down on the counter.

"Jon, do you want chutney?" she called.

\------------------------------------------------- *~~~~~~~~~~~~~~* ------------------------------------------------

Sansa parked her little Nissan Micra in the cool parking building.

She was a little early, but unlike most in her social sphere, she preferred to be early rather than fashionably late. One might be of use if early, if it were a social occasion, of course.

She was feeling very good this morning. She had slept exceptionally well last night after she had evicted Jon from her apartment and assuring him that she was fine and not moving out, thank you. She had found Sandors handkerchief. It tumbled from her sleeve as she lay her jacket over her desk chair in her room. She bend to picked it up and ran her fingers over the soft worn fabric. She had slept with it clenched in her fist and dreamed of the smell of exhaust and the open road. She had woken more refreshed than she had in months.

Sansa wandered out into the bright Kings Landing sunlight, looking forward to her shopping trip. She hadn't been out in a long time, since the day she had gone shopping with Margaery to buy her sparkly silver clutch, in fact. The day before Tyrion and Shaes wedding. The clutch was still in the police evidence lock up, along with her pretty blue dress and sparkly sandals.

She tripped along the waterfront towards Harbour Masters listing off the things she might look for during the day and thinking that she might like a frozen virgin margarita with lunch.

She was just passing a group of angled car parks, containing a pair of courier vans when... 

"Well, well, if it isn't the little Ginger Minge."

Sansa spun around, her face aghast. Her scathing retort died upon her lips though as she found herself glaring at a trio of Westermen, one of which she recognised.

He sat on his chocolate brown hog on the roadside, his arms flung forwards and leaning nonchalantly over the chrome handlebars. His dark hair slicked back, his dark goatee trimmed close and the rest of him as thoroughly disreputable as the first time that she had seen him in the road houses bar room. Only this time it was full sunlight. He was wearing sunglasses and had a cigarette hanging precariously from the corner of his mouth.

"Good Morning, Mr Bronn." Sansa greeted him rather coldly with a rigid smile on her mouth. She still had her manners after all. "What a pleasure to encounter you once again."

The man Bronn chuckled, spent ash from his cigarette danced away on the breeze from off of the bay.

"Mr Bronn... Bloody Hells girl, you never switch off, do you." He chuckled again, removing his cigarette from his mouth and flicking it away with a cloud of smoke oozing from his nostrils.

He stood up and swung his leg over the top of his bike and crossed the distance between them slowly with a cocky swagger in his step.

"For the record, Fire Crotch, it's Mr Blackwater."

Sansa made a 'huh' sound, squashing down her need to retaliate to his taunts. "Like the Bay?" She enquired with forced polite interest.

"Yes, Copper Top... like the bay." He grinned at her, tipping his sunglasses forwards down his nose and looking her up and down. He had blue eyes that had a mischievous twinkle to them that might be considered endearing... if he didn't speak.

Sansa looked past him at his companions still seated on their respective motorcycles and leering at her in a very unacceptable way.

"Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your companions?" Sansa asked with an airy smile.

"Nope." Bronn replied.

He wore classic denim jeans and a denim shirt half unbuttoned over a lean, taut chest dusted with wiry hair and revealed a peek of some kind of dark tattoo. His sleeves were rolled up and lumpy with a cigarette packet layered inside and his faded leather Westermen vest was over top. Double Denim. A bold fashion choice.

Bold seemed to be his thing as demonstrated when he produced a cell phone and clicked a photo of her.

"Um... Excuse me?!..." Sansa cried in outrage.

Bronn held up his hand, palm directly in her face but otherwise ignored her as he tapped away at his phone with his thumb. He finished whatever he had been doing and slipped the phone into his back pocket turning on a cocky grin again and adding an obnoxious wink.

"Patience, my little Red Rug." He drawled insultingly reaching out to ruffle her hair but was ultimately denied as she ducked out of the way.

"What did you do?" She demanded. "and I think we can do without the offensive pet names, thank you very much."

"Anything you say, Pyro Pubes." He cackled, and earned a hoot or two from the men sitting nearby watching the by-play. "As to what I was doing, wait and you'll see."

Sansa stamped her foot and growled, knowing full well it was childish.

"I have somewhere to be and have no time to dally with you, Sir." She said, sticking her pert nose in the air.

"Yoo Hoo, Sans." A melodious voice sang from nearby.

Sansa suppress the groan threatening to bubble from her throat and she turned a welcoming and unconcerned smile towards Margaery, who was at this moment, daintily skipping down the sidewalk with the look of burning curiosity on her pretty face. She eyed Bronn as she came up to Sansas side with a breathy giggle.

"I thought I'd be on time for once." She smiled prettily. "Won't you introduce me to your friend?"

Bronn had straightened his shoulders a little and puffed his chest out. He was as tall as Sansa in her chunky lifts, but Margaery was smaller and no doubt more impressed.

Sansa sighed inwardly and started to her introductions. only to be silenced by Margaery talking over her.

"Margaery Tyrell." She simpered, putting on her best vapid socialite voice and holding out her hand in a very limp wristed fashion. "Charmed I'm sure."

Sansa was somewhat impressed when Bronn lifted Margaerys hand to his lips and brushed them softly across her knuckles. He cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses as he looked into her eyes and gave a crooked little smirk.

"Indeed... charmed." he responded in a voice that was slightly deeper than his own, as Margaery blushed like Maiden herself.

What the deuce was going on?

She stood dumbly to one side as her friend flirted brazenly with a Westerman, forgetting Sansas presence all together. Sansa pressed her lips together and gave a discreet little 'ah-hem'. She gave Margaery a flat, unimpressed look.

She had the grace to blush, at least.

Bronn grinned and tipped his head to the side regarding them both. He seemed to be concentrating on something, which became apparent when a sound like a far off thunderstorm permeated the peaceful waterfront. It got louder. Much louder.

Much, much louder. 

And preceded the arrival of a convoy of growling and snorting motorcycles and at the forefront of the approaching army was Sandor Clegane. 

That's it. Her parents were going to kill her.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The parade of unutterably noisy motorcycles cruised to a stop near where Sansa, Margaery and the other unmentionables were waiting. They spread themselves out across the roadway with a complete disregard for traffic laws. Other vehicles either tiptoed (in a vehicular sense) around them or swiftly pulled U-turns and scarpered (in a vehicular sense) away in the other direction.

At the front of the whole cacophonous shebang, Clegane pulled in next to the two as yet unnamed Westermen and kicked the stand down on his formidable black and chrome chopper. Even through the pitch black sunglasses that were wrapped around his grim face, Sansa could feel the weight of his stare. It was almost a physical thing. Not a caress, Sansa doubted that he was capable of such a gentle touch. It was much more visceral.

He was in his standard uniform... jeans, vest... except today, the grimy long sleeved tee shirt had been exchanged for a short sleeved one in black in deference to the palatial summer heat.

This was a problem, as Sansas eyes were automatically drawn to his ridiculously bulging biceps. The worn fabric was stretched over them to its utter limits, threatening to burst at the seams any moment or so it seemed. The edges of tattoos snaked their way out from underneath his sleeves and Sansa found herself pondering what they were of, if he had more and where else on his very imposing body that he might be hiding them... which was ludicrious. That would involve him removing his shirt and that didn't bear thinking about. How inappropriate.

And he wasn't wearing a helmet. That was illegal, wasn't it? How much cranial protection did a bandanna offer?

Sansa decided to take it all in. She may as well enjoy her last moments of freedom. She saw a tastefully decorated dungeon in her near future. With Margaery Tyrell by her side, there was no way in the seven hells that her mum and dad wouldn't know about Sansa seeing Clegane again before the end of the day. Whether it might be her fault or not that he was here.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Clegane snarled, leaning his bike onto its stand and taking to his feet.

He crossed the not inconsiderable distance between them briskly and loomed over her, blotting out the sun. His hand closed around her upper arm and Sansa started to believe that her arm was much too convenient a handle. Everyone seemed to be clutching at her arms recently. It immediately got her hackles up. He was so rude.

"This, Sir," She waved her free hand airily about to indicate the whole waterfront, "is a public street in a busy and popular retail and recreational district. There are a number of lovely boutiques right over there that I plan to visit shortly. The question should be, Mr Clegane, unless you too are purchasing a floral neck scarf, what are YOU doing here?"

Ha! She got a Sir and a Mister in there.

"Should you not be skulking about your road house or shaking down some store owners for protection money?"

Take that! She'd heard that in one of Jons TV shows. She hoped that she had quoted it correctly.

Cleganes cheek twitched.

"I told you to stay away." His voice dropped a few octaves, his rasp now indiscernible from an actual animalistic growl.

Sansa drew a deep breath and pulled back her shoulders, making herself as tall as possible. It didn't matter that she was still a full foot shorter than he, it was the height of her valiant northern spirit and Stark family character that counted.

"I can't very well do that when I am accosted on the street willy-nilly by your henchmen, can I?" She hissed, "and if I may... it was not I who initiated our last interchange either. Perhaps, Mr Clegane, you should take heed of your own advice." She rounded that out with a solid poke to his chest with her index finger. Humph!

The reaction from the biker boss was not what she expected at all. She found herself abruptly released and as fast as lightening, Clegane turned on Bronn, taking the man by the throat with a white knuckled fist and heaving him off the ground. Bronns hands wrapped themselves around The HOUNDS thick wrist and he spluttered, his face quickly turning a shade of cerise. The HOUND pulled him forwards until they were nose to nose, Bronns feet dangling a foot in the air.

"Accosted?" The Hound whispered. The strangely sibilant sound was frightening. It bought to the imagination the sound a dull serrated knife would make carving through raw meat, grinding it to mush rather than slicing clean.

Bronn could not reply and his face was turning a worrying shade of magenta.

Sansa leapt forwards and began grappling with the Hounds arm.

"No, No, Let him down..." Sansa gasped desperately. "He didn't touch me, please let him down..."

The Hound cocked his head down towards her. She was very glad that she couldn't see his eyes.

"Please, Sandor." She pleaded.

Bronns feet hit the pavement with a dull thud and he stumbled a little to keep his footing. He bent over with his hands on his knees and began to wheeze, forcing air into his lungs through a compressed windpipe. Not that Clegane noticed at all, his mercifully shaded eyes were firmly fixed on Sansa.

"Well?" He growled, "Explain."

Sansa replied quickly not wanting to be the cause of any more bother. "I was walking past, he called to me, approached and called me few rather abominable monikers... and then took my picture. That's all, he didn't a lay a single fingernail on me"

He stared at her silently for a moment, the burned corner of his mouth stretched outwards, pulling fiercely at his scars.

"Why don't you say what you fucking mean instead of farting about with your fancy bullshit words?" Clegane grated.

He turned his head away from her and after a moment of chagrin she followed his eye line. They had quite a large and captivated audience. A swarm of menacing bikers and one extraordinarily wealthy socialite, who was looking on quite gleefully. Sansa also realised with a start that she still had her hands wrapped around Cleganes forearm, clutching it tightly to her chest. Clegane seemed to notice as well but instead of shaking her off or making some acerbic remark at her expense, he lay his free hand over both of hers and held her fast.

The muscle beneath her palms seemed to ripple under her touch, her fingers clenched, trying to dig into the firm flesh in response. She gasped and pulled her hands away, blushing furiously at her impropriety. She turned her head again avoiding her own reflection in his sunglasses.

A tall bear of a man with a bushy ginger beard and a surprisingly happy looking face was helping Bronn to straighten, slapping him heartily on the back as he did so. He was wearing a white novelty tee shirt that said 'Where the Wildlings Are' underneath his patched vest and had a cruel looking hand gun tucked into the waist band of his jeans, right where everyone could see it. Sansa found this disturbing and wondered suddenly how many of these men and women were armed. Was Sandor armed? How safe was it to have it tucked into the front of his pants like that?

She was not sure what to do now. She thought that maybe Margaery and she should leave. She rotated back to Clegane. He was staring down at her an unreadable expression on his face. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and caught the unburned side in his top teeth thoughtfully.

Sansa let out another gasp as he suddenly clasped her hand and walked her away from the crowd towards the Blackwater Bay palisades that separated the roadway from the beachfront. His strides were much longer than hers and she stumbled after him. This had the earmarks of a repeat of the road house incident and she steeled herself for a battle.

He stopped sharply when they were out of earshot (if not eyeline) of Margaery and his rabble and wheeled on her. He wrenched the sunglasses from his face and Sansa nearly reared back from him. The look in his eyes was rapacious and Sansa fervently wished that he would have left the glasses on. THAT look shook her to her core. He could crowd her with his body, drag her about with his physical might, she could handle that any day of the week but she'd be damned if she could withstand the feral intensity of his stormy eyes.

"Miss Stark... Little Bird." He murmured.

"Please don't call me that." She said a little absently, still somewhat struck by his eyes "I think I've had my fill of nicknames today."

Clegane narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze back on Bronn who had recovered from his recent malaise and was watching the pair with everyone else. Under Cleganes glare he suddenly found something above him very, very interesting. The sky was a particularly pretty shade of blue today.

"Nicknames?" it was spoken particularly coldly and Sansa feared for Mr Blackwaters life.

She pouted, not wanting to lie, not wanting to cause even more bother. Bronn had been through enough today.

"Nothing I haven't heard before, being a red head." She said softly. "Actually one was new... Pyro Pubes...ha" she laughed weakly.

Cleganes jaw jumped.

"I've heard that one." He grunted, peering back down at her. "Sansa..." He paused and stared at her for a beat, as if waiting for approval at using her first name. She gave it in the form of a small smile. "Sansa, I don't put cred in the Gods, if they do exist, they're all a bunch of fuckers. Whatever it is, something keeps dragging our arses together since that night. I don't even know why I came to your work." He shrugged. "I ain't gonna seek you out again, but I'm not gonna fight it either."

His hand raised and thick, rough fingers took hold of a lock of her hair... she wasn't even sure if he realised that he was doing it. He rubbed at the strands in between his fingertips, watching the sunlight spark off them. She was frozen.

His eyes met hers again, boring right through her. "The next time I see you, I'm not gonna fight it... I'm acting on it"

He released her hair and let it flutter back down to her shoulder.

He turned from her abruptly and stomped away from her, leaving her a bit bemused as she watched his departure. She noted that the sleeve of his tee shirt had a new tear in it. The arm that had held Bronn aloft.

He halted briefly and said something in a low voice to Bronn who chuffed a chuckle and held up his hands in submission. He seemed relatively okay with nearly having the life choked out of him.

The Westermen who had alighted from their bikes took to them again. Clegane eased into the seat of his chopper and looked back over at Sansa, still standing where he had left her. His cheek twitched and he lowered his sunglasses back over his eyes. He kicked his beastly machine to life with an ear-splitting roar and led his army away, leaving a gaseous pall over the waterfront, the tang of petrol fumes and leather. Leaving an uneasy silence.

"Well, that was quite thrilling." 

Sansa jumped and turned bewildered eyes to Margaery who was now perplexingly at her side... when had she approached?

What had just happened?

"I'll be the first to admit that smug looking gentleman was entirely yummy." Margaery threaded her arm around Sansas and pulled her gently in the direction of Harbour Masters. How could she think of food at a time like this?

"So, Sans." Margaery was still chattering at her, her voice now sly and knowing. "When Mrs Stockworth said you were 'attacked' in a bathroom, what exactly did THAT entail..."

Sansa did not hear her. Sansa was still hearing Cleganes gravelly whisper in her head over and over. "I'm acting on it."

What did that mean? Why did that sound like a threat? And why was she not scared of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I wrote this and then accidentally deleted it. I had to rewrite. It's not the same as the first draft, but I wrote it pretty quickly. I may have lost a bit of what I was going for... and there might be few mistakes. Point them out, I'll fix them


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sansa had pondered her most recent meeting with the infamous Sandor Clegane. She had turned the encounter over in her mind while Margaery had chatted to her at lunch and throughout their shopping trip, which they completed with much success (cute violet, halter neck sun dress, on sale... yussss!). She thought about it on Sunday as she ate her brunch with Ygritte and her Northern Traditions group which degenerated into a flimsy excuse to get pissed on a Sunday morning. All through her work day on Monday while she should have been concentrating on the Bolton trust funds (How on earth would Ramsey Bolton cope without a helicopter this year?... Oh, the deprivation).

On Tuesday, as she attended her lectures... she had no idea which lectures she actually attended. She wasn't thrown out of any lecture halls so they must have been the correct ones. They might have been important, vital to her studies, but her mind was consumed with a single sentence. And she replayed that sentence over and over while laying about her apartment on Tuesday evening.

"The next time I see you, I'm not gonna fight it... I'm acting on it"

Fight what? What did 'acting on it' necessitate exactly? When would he see her next?

He wouldn't seek her out, he said so and she didn't think he was a liar, so they would have to meet accidentally again, or... Or, SHE could seek HIM out.

Did she WANT to seek him out?

...

...

...

Yes. Yes, she did.

Why? When? How? Where? ... What?!

She only knew of one place that she might find him. The Keep.

Over the last couple of days Sansa had not heard from her parents. Margaery had not said anything about the impromptu rendezvous on the waterfront with what looked to be the entire Westermen clan. If she had so much as whispered a word to anyone at all, Catelyn Stark would have burst through Sansas apartment door or her office door or the bathroom cubical door and dragged her by her hair to Winterfell and its newly refurbished dungeons.

It was imperative that Sansa keep her unarguably unwise and tentatively planned meeting with Sandor Clegane an absolute secret.

She also knew it was not a great idea to NOT tell anyone where she was going but she was drawn to see him again in whatever capacity that she could and if that meant another trip out into the hinterlands to a dingy road house with a sticky floor and pungent smelling bikers, then so be it.

On Wednesday morning Sansa rose early and prepared for her adventure with care. She had no idea what she was dressing for or what would happen when she saw him, but she knew that she wanted to look pretty.

She lingered in her shower, making sure to scrub every inch of her skin. She buffed, moisturised, plucked, curled... she trimmed her toenails... Why? What was she expecting to happen? Why would it involve her toes?

She browsed her wardrobe.

She was going to a biker bar. What to wear...

She took what she knew of the Westermen and tried to translate it into Sansawear. Leather, denim, worn and faded cotton... a thin layer of grime... ew!

She couldn't do that. Blending in would not work for her, so if she was going to stand out, she would go full princess.

She selected a little white sundress, dotted with daisies that she had bought an age ago but had not had the guts to wear. It was very short and the racer back exposed her sculpted shoulder blades. She wore a pair of ballet flats so no part of her feet would have to touch the expected sticky floor, making her spur of the moment pedicure moot. She left her hair loose, allowing it to ripple and flow over her shoulders and down her back like an auburn waterfall. Her make up was sparse, highlighting her cornflower blue eyes and soft, rose-blush lips.

She studied herself in her bedroom mirror and cringed. She looked like a bloody virgin sacrifice... How terribly pagan.

Before her courage left her completely and she changed her mind about the whole 'seeking out the dangerous ex con biker who had saved her from being raped'... she picked up her handbag and the folded, pressed and spotlessly clean handkerchief that she had decided would be the reason for her visit (Really Sansa, Really?! An amoeba could see through that excuse) and left her apartment.

The long drive out to The Keep was more nerve wracking this time around even though it was daytime. There were much more cars on the road and most of them seemed to be living life on the edge with little to no regard for the lives of those around them if the speed and dodgy passing maneuvers were anything to go by. She made it though, she missed the turn off to Casterley Road and had to turn around but as she turned into the patch of shingle and dirt that passed for a parking lot, she felt a sense of accomplishment and stomach dropping dread.

What was she doing her? She should leave.

She said it again and again in her head as she got out of her little Micra... I should leave. She walked passed a row of motorbikes barely noting that there were not many there. There were two men loitering inelegantly on the outdoor furniture on the veranda in a cloud of cigarette smoke and whiskey fumes. She took no note of them as she passed. I should leave.

She pushed on the door and entered the bar.

Yep, It was just as dingy as before. Only this time dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the boarded up windows... and the floor was just as sticky.

There were only a half a dozen people or so about. Sansa could hear the cl-clack of pool balls in play somewhere near the back and the faint murmur of music from the tinny speakers of someones cell phone. At least, she thought it was music, it was more like tortured screams over an electric guitar.

Sansa looked around. He wasn't there.

"He's not here"

Sansa turned towards the brusque voice... The Bar-lady from the first time.

She was reclining back on a chair, the front legs off the floor (which, considering how rickety the chair looked, did not seem to be a very good idea) with her feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. She had a broadsheet newspaper open in front of her and didn't bother to look up from it.

"Oh, Thank you." Sansa breathed, her pulse suddenly thrumming in her throat. She stepped over to the womans table. "Might you know where I might find him?"

"I don't have him on GPS." She responded curtly.

Sansas heart sank. She was disappointed in spite of her earlier feelings.

"Of course. I am sorry to bother you." She said dejectedly, turning back to the exit. She stopped at the door. "May I leave a message for him at all?"

"I'm not his secretary either." The woman grunted turning the page on her paper.

Sansa nodded and eased the door open.

She stood for a moment in the front steps and mentally chastised herself. Of course he wouldn't be here. He didn't live in a bar. How silly.

Why was she even here?... Did she really want to see him again to face whatever "acting on it" implied?

She should just move on. She would just move on.

She nodded her head emphatically. She would just move on. She had enough on her plate with work and study. Jon and her parents would flip their lids if they knew she was here... again. She didn't need this. She had done what she had originally set out to do. She had sought out and thanked her Hero. He had acknowledged it (sort of). Now it was time to put it all behind her. She sighed. Puffing her cheeks out on the exhale and made for her Micra and home. She still had time to make her afternoon tutorial (which she had uncharacteristically planned to skip)

The drive back to Kings Landing was just as harrowing as the drive out... what was wrong with people? Imagine being on a motorcycle in all of this... one certainly took ones life in their hands on such an unsafe vehicle, especially with no helmet.

Her tutorial was just as exciting as she had imagined it to be. She had the urge to liberally sprinkle herself with petrol and set herself alight... and by the looks of her fellow classmates glazed eyes she was not the only one. It bought to mind Cleganes scarring and she felt guilty for thinking it be begin with... how awful that must have been.

As she walked back to her car, she passed a row of mopeds and scooters... standard student transport and she chuckled to herself as she compared the brightly coloured machines to the monstrous chopper that Clegane had been driving... these were little more than hairdryers with wheels.

Her drive home was standard, nothing special. Her brief stop at the supermarket to pick up a tub of butter pecan ice cream was too. The knowing look from the cashier was unappreciated though. People bought ice cream all of the time without any actual need to drown in the cholesterol laden goodness for any reason other than hunger.

She suddenly had the burning need to watch Sense and Sensibility, whilst wearing shortie pajamas in a nest of duvets and pillows.

Her bottom lip popped out all by itself and began to quiver. She sniffed loudly to herself and dashed her hand across her eyes.

She pulled into the parking garage of her building and slotted her Micra into its car park. She walked resolutely up to her apartment, head held high. She nodded ad smiled at her neighbours as she passed them. She chatted to Mr Manderlay in the elevator, the somewhat rotund widower who owned the building and housed himself on the top floor even though he complained about the walk there every time she saw him. He was another friend of her father... of course. He was a sweet man though, even if he was always trying to set her up with one of his sons.

She made it to her apartment in one piece having dodged yet another invitation to meet Wendel Manderlay (quite the sportsman apparently... polo, you know). She stripped off her little white dress with the daisies on right in her entranceway ... the whole stupid effort wasted. She kicked off her shoes, found her pajamas and wrestled them on, wiped off her makeup and then tumbled onto her sofa and went into an Austen and Dairy coma.

On Thursday morning she awoke from her position on the sofa and got on with her life, starting with a lecture, a study lunch and then an afternoon at the office.

She toiled her day away. She met with the partners (her dad and Uncle Brynden) to update them on her work on the Cerwyn account and was assigned a hulking folder containing the information on the Reeds... another of her dads friends. Would they have any business at all if her fathers friends abandoned him?

As she cleared her desk at the end of the day and wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep, her dad popped his head into her office.

"Your mothers asked for me to go home this weekend... do you want to come?" he asked, pulling his tie off and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. "We can go up tomorrow night and come back Sunday"

Yes... that was what she needed; a couple of days away in the loving bosom of her family and ancestral home. Old Nans cooking and her mothers expert supervising. She'd get to snuggle up to Lady and vent her woes to someone who didn't judge or scold. Bliss.

"That sounds wonderful, Dad." She chirped back enthusiastically, standing and picking up her handbag and jacket.

Ned smiled and held out his arm for his daughter to take. Sansa settled her hand into the crook of his elbow and allowed herself to led out to reception.

"I'll get Jeyne to text you when she's confirmed the flight and I'll send a car to collect you tomorrow evening." He walked her past Jeynes desk, nodding at her to confirm that she'd heard.

He released her at the elevators.

"Honey. Robert asked me if I would play golf with him next week." He said softly, concern in his eyes. "I wanted to be sure before I accept that you would be okay with that."

"Don't be silly, dad." She scoffed lightly. "Mr Baratheon didn't do anything wrong. Please play with him. I hurts me to break up a long standing friendship when no wrong doing is involved."

"My daughter is letting me go out and play." Ned chuckled. "You must be exhausted... go home. See you tomorrow."

"Night Dad."

She smiled as he gave her a soft shove towards the elevator.

Sansa pulled on her sage coloured suit jacket and brushed off her tailored trousers during the ride down to the parking garage. As the door opened, she dug around in her handbag for her cell phone, checking for any messages and to quickly check if Arya had played her hand in Words with Friends (scrotum?... really, Arya!).

She looked up shaking her head and the smile died on her lips.

There was a massive motorcycle parked behind her Micra.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sansas cell phone clattered to the ground and made the unmistakable 'pish' sound that came with a shattered screen. She didn't hear it. She stared open mouthed at the very distinct Black and Chrome chopper that sat against the hatchback of her little car, dwarfing it with its beastliness.

She dragged her wide eyes away and scanned the parking garage for the man that should have accompanied it. He was nowhere in sight and she knew for a fact that he was very hard to miss.

She crept forwards, approaching the bike like it was a living, breathing entity. A snarling creature that would snap at her if she ventured too close.

She was no expert on motorbikes, far from it unless it was an enquiry about the nicest shade of green to paint it (Bottle Green, definitely). This machine was imposing to say the least. It had to be to accommodate the mighty frame of Sandor Clegane.

It was black. Matt black on glossy black. The seat was black leather. Where it wasn't black it was glinting chrome. The man loved his bike... that much was obvious, it was actually a work of art when you looked close. All of the parts clean and shiny. If only he looked after himself as well as he did his bike, she mused thinking of his dirty tee shirts and somewhat greasy hair.

She gently ran her fingertips over the slick paint. It was hot to the touch. He must not have been gone long.

"You shouldn't touch a mans bike without his permission."

Sansa squealed and leaped right into the air at the grating whisper right by her ear, so close she felt his breath moist on her lobe. She spun in time to see Sandor Clegane rear quickly back from her, his eyes wide. He threw his hands wide so she could plainly see that he would not touch her uninvited. She put one hand to her thudding chest and the other to her lips.

"Goodness me. Ha." She laughed to reassure him that she would not melt down again... as he obviously thought that she would. "Sandor, you startled me."

He eyed her warily for a moment to convince himself that she was well.

"Humpf. There's a lot to be said for spacial awareness, you know." He grumbled. "You dropped this."

He held out her cell phone, a web-like crack sneaking across the screen. She sighed and reached for it, her fingers just brushing his palm, gossamer soft.

"Brienne said you were at The Keep again." He was staring at his open and now empty hand. His tongue slid over his bottom lip and he cut his eyes up to hers. "That was fucking stupid."

The elevator dinged and opened and Sansas heart began palpitate once again. Her DAD was still in the building. She gulped as two of the ladies from the law firm on the sixth floor exited the elevator car chatting animatedly. They stopped at the sight of Sandor and scuttled away quickly in opposite directions casting cautious glances over their shoulders.

She looked back up at Sandor.

"Maybe it was stupid but you coming here was not exactly a stellar display of intellect either." She replied tetchily. "What do you want?"

"What do YOU want, little bird?" He snapped back. "I warned you..."

"Yes, you warned me." Her voice rose, she was getting a little bit riled up herself. "What did that even..."

He was on her in an instant. She had no time to react and less time to process the feeling of his mouth descending on hers and his overlarge body crowding her.

Her cell phone clattered from her useless fingers again and she pressed her hands up against his chest and he immediately stepped back from her. He stood to his full height and looked intently around the parking garage... at the ceiling, at his bike, at her car... anywhere but at her.

He'd kissed her? That was a kiss, right? As fleeting as it was...

She needed to assimilate this information. Absorb and calculate its meaning:

Did it offend her? ... No.

Had she responded? ... No.

How had it felt? ... Good.

Was it welcome? ... It was a surprise ...

Was it Welcome? ... It didn't hurt ...

WAS IT WELCOME? ... Yes.

Should it happen again?

She looked up at him as he pulled his hand through his hair. He was looking down at the ground.

"I keep forgetting." he muttered to himself, his voice low and gravelly.

She tilted her head to the side and regarded him in confusion. "Forgetting what?"

His dark eyes zipped to hers and then returned to examining the ground.

"That you were a victim... "

"I'm not a victim." She ground out angrily. "I'm not! I'm a surviour. And I won't crumble every time a man comes near me. I won't let that... that... person... do that to me!"

She grabbed onto his leather vest with both fists and yanked his head down to her level. It was more of a collision than a kiss. It lacked the polish of her previous kisses. Joffery kissed like he was putting on a show and needed to be camera ready at any moment. Considering who his father was, he probably did. The kisses that she had traded with Theon were chaste and innocent... more of an experiment than anything, just to make sure they both had the mechanics down pat.

Even though this kiss lacked style, the substance was definitely there.

He had hesitated... probably from surprise, it wasn't every day one had a redhead whacked you in the face with her lips, she was sure. But once he had acclimatised to the moment, Sandor Clegane was an eager participant. She felt his large hands, warm and strong, encircle her waist, urging her forwards a step. So gently. So very gently.

And his lips so plush on one side, slightly chapped and dry, and slick with burn scars on the other slid against hers like... like butterfly wings. What was happening here? she mused, her head beginning to swim. Even when she had kissed the man she was going to marry she had never felt this small fire begin to stoke low in her belly. Her small hands crept up over his shoulders and hooked themselves onto his nape, tangling in the dark locks she found there. She felt like spun sugar in his arms, delicate and ready to melt.

She felt a low rumble build in his chest as she pressed herself against it. Did he just growl?

... and then things changed. For the better?

Yes. Definitely for the better.

The fire in her belly became an inferno.

One of his massive hands crept from her waist down and around to her bottom and he lifted her off the ground up to his level, the other secured itself between her shoulder blades to hold her steady and then his tongue was in her mouth. Spun sugar became a puddle on the floor and she melted into the hottest kiss that she'd ever experienced in her admittedly limited existence. She had to close her eyes tight to fully appreciate the searing touch of his whole body enveloping her from his furnace like mouth; with lips, tongue, teeth all at play against her own and down to where her ankle and crept around the back of his knee. She felt a little bit like she imagined a barnacle would feel attached to the hull of a ship... if she could form coherent thoughts at all.

Sudden images of him leaning her across his bike and taking her with devastating efficiency entered her head and her eyes popped open in shock at her own notions. She was in The Parking Garage of her work. That would be highly inappropriate.

Oh Gosh, her DAD was still in the building!

She tore her lips from his and gasped in a deep, unsteady breath.

"Stop... Stop." She breathed. "We can't do this here."

She pulled back from him pressing her palms against his broad shoulders. He blinked at her, the storm in his eyes well and truly churning. His pupils dilated wide, leaving a ring of cloudy silver that glinted dangerously at her.

He stared at her in silence for a full minute before he nodded and lowered her slowly back down to the ground. Her body slid sensuously down his, everything on him was hard and taut. 'Everything!' She noted as her belly traversed below his belt.

Well... That... Well! He was big all over wasn't he.

She gulped in quite an unladylike fashion and her feet lightly touched the ground. There was no questioning what he was fighting when it came to her. She was in no way ready for THAT yet.

And yet, she couldn't drag her eyes from his...

No! What was she thinking? She dropped her eyes to his chest and stared at his tee shirt only to gape back up at him as he took her hand and drew her towards his bike.

Ummm...

He took to his seat and patted the place in front of him.

"Come."He growled.

Ummmmm...

"Where...?" she stuttered.

"Somewhere that's not fucking 'here'." He rumbled back.

"Oh." She faltered. "I can't."

He narrowed his eyes at her and the corner of his mouth twitched. She thought that meant he was irritated... it only did that when she had irked him in some way.

"If my dad comes down and sees my car still here without me, he'll think..."

"Fuck!"

"Now wait one minute." She snapped at his boorish expletive. "I know you know that nothing was going to happen now. I barely know you. While some other women might be more than willing to... well, you know...but I am a lady. The only man I will be... you know... with is my husband. SO, unless you have a ring and a septon spirited away on your person somewhere..."

"What?" He looked genuinely confused. "Wha... Of course... of course... you're a virgin. Of course you are." He rolled his eyes and ran his hand over his face as realisation set in.

"You don't need to say it like that." She said, slightly offended.

His fists clenched on the handle grips of his bike and he muttered something too low for her to hear.

"I'm sorry?" She asked. He looked like a giant, angry, scarred baby. He was almost pouting.

"I said, it's just my buggering luck." He glared at her through his hair. "Why did I even think...You're so fucking beautiful.""

Sansa had never had a compliment bellowed at her before, especially not quite so aggressively. How was one supposed to respond? Should she smile and blush? or cry and cower? A tough one.

"Did you really think that we'd... you know... right here... or somewhere else, right now?" Sansa asked softly.

"I don't know what I thought... doesn't matter now, does it?" He grumbled.

"Okay, listen." Sansa regained her equilibrium and reached out to lay her fingertips on his forearm, trying to draw his gaze.

"We should probably talk." She angled her head to look into his down cast eyes. "I think we can safely say, by your pronouncement the other day and by what just happened, that you don't want to walk away just yet. And I think you can assume, by my own outlandish conduct recently, that I would like to pursue... ummm, I'm not sure... But something, with you."

He glanced up, meeting her wide blue eyes.

"Follow me?" She invited him with a small smile. "Big things have been decided over coffee, you know"

He responded by abrputly jumping on the ignition and roaring his chopper to life. He kicked the stand up and the bike moved off. She watched as he cruised towards the exit, not looking back and her face fell despondently. Right, why would an experienced and rough man of the world, want to have coffee and cake with a Motherhouse schoolgirl like her. He wanted someone more knowledgeable and less romantic. Less precious and coddled than she.

"Well?" He boomed from the exit, his raspy voice echoing around the space.

Sansas head whipped around. He was waiting for her, his big booted foot on the ground holding his bike up. She stooped to pick up her shattered phone, fumbled in her handbag for her transponder and scampered into her little car. She had no idea where to go? He would look so out of place at The House of Black and White with its mostly hipster and young executive clientele.

She reversed out of her park and started off, the grunting of Cleganes chopper keeping time with her whisper quiet little car. 

She found herself driving to her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this this morning. It might be a bit rough. I didn't proof it, but I realised that I hadn't posted all weekend...


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sansa Stark was, on a normal day, a good girl. Born and raised to privilege in the north, surrounded by the love and support of her large and close-knit family. She was schooled in the best private (and religious) institutions that money could buy and encouraged to do and try whatever vocation that she wanted. She was given the opportunity to travel and experience other countries and cultures (this ended up being a short holiday in the Summer Isles that culminated in her being sunburned to the point of barbeque... other places were overrated). She was trusted to spread her wings and fly off on her own to make her distinct mark on the world.

And with privilege came responsibility. Sansa repaid her parents dedication to her upbringing and their trust in her decision making by being the best human being that she could be. Kind, Courteous and Conscientious, she worked diligently in the family business and studied hard to become better at it. She had demurely dated and become engaged to a man deemed to be of superior breeding, affluence and character... a progeny of old blood and old money equal to the Stark name and as an added bonus the son of her dads best friend. She had hoped to bring about the amalgamation of the two families (three families if one considered Jofferys mother as well).

Sansa was responsible and she had exceeded expectations in all aspects of her life.

Up until a few months ago...

Sansa realised as she led the way to her apartment complex that the night that Joffery cast her aside and Meryn Trant tried to salaciously rob her of her innocence and dignity, things had been irrevocably changed.

Things were not so clear cut, not black and white as had been previously laid out to her. The veil had been lifted and with eyes un-shrouded she saw the world for what it was, not what she had been romanced with in her formative years. The outside of the bubble was chaotic, scary and exciting. It made her pulse surge, it flooded her veins with endorphins and adrenaline and it made her head spin.

Sansa looked in her rear view mirror and took in the epic image of Sandor Clegane astride his roaring, bestial machine.

He was everything that she had abhorred. The list of faults was extensive and so varied and quite simply... bad.

Maybe her current perceptions of him were clouded by Hero worship,overlooking all of his many flaws and focusing instead on an almost obsessive admiration bought about by dire circumstances and which may very well lead to her eventual ruin.

He was her polar opposite in every facet of life... and yet she was drawn to him.

Extreme opposite.

Even physically.

She had never liked muscular men. She shuddered at scars, body hair was a no-no, she thought tattoos were exceedingly low brow. She had admired impeccable grooming, sleek luxury cars, gentile manners, intelligence, taste, refinement... Symmetrical, boyish good looks... the list though, was flawed.

The list was being reassessed and rewritten.

Sansa was now in unknown territory. She was not doing what was expected. In fact, she was spitting in the face of her fine lineage (not literally of course... how terribly crass).

Where had her good sense gone? When it came to this man, it had abandoned her completely.

She pulled into the parking lot of her building and slotted her little Micra into her allocated space and she couldn't miss the thundering chopper pulling into the neighbouring space. Clegane revved the engine a few times as he came to a halt... just in case the entire city hadn't realised he had arrived at White Harbour Apartments.

Sansa groaned internally. Several things were going to happen as a result of this whole performance and not a single one of them good as far as her welfare was concerned. Mr Manderly was probably already on the phone to her dad.

She gathered up her things and with a deep seeded resolve, exited her car fully prepared to face them all head on. Things were different now.

Clegane was leaning back on his bike, glaring over the top of his sunglasses at her building.

It was a finely restored and renovated historic site that had been in the Manderly family for generations. The old stone and iron facade spoke to a craftsmanship that had died out an age ago. This edifice was built to stand the test of time, against all trials and tribulations. An army of barbarians could come up against this structure and even now, shatter against its walls. It was quite pretty too.

"Fucking Hells" He muttered before turning his gaze towards her. "You're really rich, aren't you."

"Myself... no." She replied sheepishly. "My parents have done quite well for themselves."

"Your dad's an accountant." He pressed. "Right?"

"Sort of..." She hedged. "He's a partner in Tully, Stark & Umber and he's actually a financial adviser but it is only one of his interests."

"Humpf." He grunted, looking back up at her building. "I thought you said we were getting coffee."

Sansa bit down on her bottom lip and held out her hand to him."We are... won't you join me?"

He looked down at her hand and then back up at her, standing from his bike. Well really, the man had no problem clutching at her at every opportunity but had some issue with taking her hand when offered.

She huffed quietly to herself as she led the way into her building. He'd had his tongue down her throat not half an hour ago, he'd had his hand on her bottom. Why not take her hand? She pondered it, using what she knew of the man, on the silent trip up to her apartment and came to this conclusion, right or wrong: Sandor Clegane was used to taking what he wanted, fighting for it even... but when it came to things freely offered, freely given... well. That sort of thing simply didn't come his way. At least not without some hidden price... a price he might not be willing to pay. She filed this away for later introspection as she led him down the fourth floor corridor.

She opened the door to her apartment and held the door open to allow him admittance. He had to dip his head slightly to get through the doorway without smacking it.

Her apartment was bright and airy with a balcony overlooking Blackwater Rush. It was quite spacious, probably more than she needed to be honest. She was suddenly very conscious of her home. To Clegane, it could be considered ostentatious...an obscene display of wealth.

It was feminine and soft and furnished with bright happy colours but not luridly so. It was littered with the presence of her family. Photos and keepsakes and reminders of her home in the North. But it was also very expensive... What must he think of her?

He glanced around her place and then looked at her expectantly.

"Coffee." He grated simply.

Sansa smiled. He was to the point and didn't dilly-dally on the finer details. She could work with that.

She lay her handbag on the kitchen island, shrugged off her jacket and made her way into the pantry and her coffee machine... she had cake too. Would he like cake? She'd serve cake.

Lemon or Carrot?

"What The Fuck?" Sandor yelled from the corner of the kitchen causing Sansa to dash back. She stopped short and screwed up her face in mortification.

"Where the fuck did you get this?" Clegane snarled at her, his large finger pointing at her refrigerator and the crumpled mugshot stuck to it with two little butterfly magnets.

She closed her eyes, her face turned crimson and she thought that she may just have to die right on the spot.

"Well?"

She opened her eyes and jumped. He was right in front of her brandishing the piece of paper at her. How had he gotten there so fast and so quietly?

"Ah, well." She stammered. "I asked my brother to find out who you were after the ... incident. He gave it to me."

"And how'd he get it? Buggery, Fucking Fuck... he's cop isn't he?" He ran his hand over his mouth. "Of course, your brother's a cop... of course he is..." He shook his head in seeming defeat.

"Actually, so is my uncle..." She whispered.

"Yep." He nodded with a grimace. "A rich, beautiful virgin with a cop family... my fucking luck."

He barked out an ironic laugh and turned his broad back to her and hung his head, the mug shoot crumpled in his fist.

"What am I doing?" He mumbled to himself, breathing deep. "Why did I..."

He turned back to her and stared hard into her eyes as if he were sifting through her thoughts. He grated his teeth over his bottom lip and raised a finger, running it down her cheek and around to her chin lifting her face slightly into the light.

"So beautiful." He breathed absently. "I'm gonna regret this, I just know it."

He then seemed to shake himself (kind of like a dog that's just woken up from a nap) and turned away again. He strode across her apartment and sat himself down at her dining table.

"Coffee." He grunted, placing the scrunched up paper on that tabletop in front of him.

Sansa stood bewildered for a moment, before rousing herself.

Lemon cake. She liked lemon cake... right?

She busied herself in her pantry, making coffee and slicing generous portions of lemon drizzle cake, arranging them artfully on a pretty antique serving platter. She cast frequent and furtive glaces at the giant, dark man sitting in her dining area, filling the bright open space with shadow and shade.

She steeled herself and carried through her offerings to her guest on a silver tray and like she would with any guest, she lay out everything as she had been taught, everything correct and pleasing to the eye. She then seated herself opposite him and absorbed her attention in adding milk and sugar to her coffee until it was to her taste.

His was black. He was ignoring it and was staring at her across the vast expanse of her table.

"How much do you know?" He asked, inclining his head towards the mugshot.

"Not much." She replied, looking back down at her coffee, swirling it in the cup. "Jon said that you were the leader of the Westermen... and that you were dangerous. That you were Gregor Cleganes brother and that you were like peas in a pod..."

"I'm nothing like that cunt." Sandor thundered forcefully, slamming his palm down on her table making the crockery jump and tinkle.

Sansa flinched back from the outburst but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'm not my fucking brother." He continued, almost incandescent with rage. "You think for one second that he would have stopped to help you. Fuck off, he would have massacred that Trant bastard and taken you for himself. Fucked you seven ways from Sunday and left your smashed up body on your parents doorstep... and then burned their house down. Believe that!"

Sansa tried to shrink back from him into her chair. The storm in his eyes was whipping to a frenzy in his fury, they sparked with lightening.

"I hate that crazy motherfucker. I would kill him, I'd kill him slow if fucking Crownlands law allowed it." He turned his gale-force glare on her, finally seeing her pale and frightened face and her cowering form.

"Shit." He abruptly leaned back in his chair.

Sansa corrected her hunched posture, believing that the storm had blown itself out. He was certainly passionate in his vitriol.

"I didn't believe Jon." She said softly, laying her slightly shaking hand over his. "I knew that you weren't like him." 

She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip watching him settle again over the rim with her wide cornflower blue eyes. He took a gulp of his drink as well.

"That is why you're here now." She continued, placing her cup delicately down onto one of her floral coasters, ticking a small smile as she watched him lift his cup suddenly from the table top and onto the coaster next to him. "We need to talk, to get to know each other beyond what we believe to be true and what is true."

She brushed a spec of invisible lint from her shirt and looked up into his now calm eyes. He nodded, looking a bit bemused himself.

"Jon said that you had a criminal record that was... extensive." She began. "What exactly does that mean?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote ... I have no idea what I'm doing... HA!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"You don't fuck around, do you."

Was it possible for him to complete a sentence without some kind of curse word inserted into it? Sansa had heard more cursing in the last few weeks than she had in her entire life. Jon, Rob and Theon uttered swears every now and then, never in her mothers presence of course, but the occasional expletive slipped out at times, usually during sporting events. Even Arya, who was quite uncouth, didn't spew bad words very often... she had threatened to 'cunt punt' Theon once, much to Catelyn Starks horror (and everyone elses glee) and had earned herself a month without tech. It didn't bother her at all, she just bought a burner phone and threw it away at the end of the month.

It was quite jarring to hear the 'F' word every time Sandor opened his mouth.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes lingering on the ball of paper in front of him.

"Not a very good picture." He grunted, flicking his fingers at it. "Didn't get my good side."

Sansa smiled softly at his attempt at mirth.

Sandor snorted and looked down at the table top. "Fuck it... it was good while it lasted. I got to pash a pretty girl." he muttered as he looked up into her eyes, resigned. "I won't lie to you. It doesn't look good on paper but like you said... on paper, it's not enough... you don't get the full picture, right?"

Sansa nodded and smiled again in encouragement. She would keep her silence and let him talk.

"Right... right...I was arrested the first time when I was twelve." He started, his raspy voice low. "It was B and E and assault."

"At twelve?" Okay, she would try to keep her silence.

"Listen, I've had that cunt at my back all my life. I ain't gonna say I was forced. I wasn't, I wanted to be accepted into the gang and Gregor wanted me to prove myself. He'd just taken over as president from my pop."

"Wait a minute... How old was he?" Sansa started.

"He was seventeen." He grunted. "You don't know my brother... He was already a big, strong fucker and he'd done much worse by seventeen than I've done in my whole buggering life up 'til now."

"But that's what I did, right. I did my part for the Westermen and earned my patch for it... for acceptance and respect. I don't expect you to understand."

Sansa just watch him. How foreign his life was from hers.

"Anyhow, I was the youngest patched member and until I came of age to prosecute, I was the fall guy too. All pretty minor stuff at first: assault, B and E, weapons possession, public drunkenness... solicitation, only once,mind."

She raised an eyebrow at that one. Why did that one seem worse than all the rest?

He noticed.

"I was ugly... young. They kept on at me for being green. I'd had offers from the dumb cunts in the gang but Gregor'd had all of them and I ain't going where that fucker's been." He shrugged. "I was fifteen and I was arrested by vice before anything happened anyway."

"Ugly? You mean you had your scars then?" She felt ill at that, he was just a boy when he'd been burned.

He gave one of his rough barks of laughter and pointed at his face.

"Had this shit since I was six." He growled. "Gregor did it."

He didn't elaborate. Maybe because of the look of horror that had spread across Sansas face. He was just a baby? and his own brother did it?

"Where the fuck was I?" He grumbled. "Right, I guess we should move to the badder stuff, aye? I was convicted of involuntary manslaughter at nineteen, got two years, was out in one."

It was said so casually. He'd killed someone. Sansa blanched.

"I said that like it was nothing. It wasn't nothing." He grimaced and looked down at the tabletop. "It's gonna sound...You heard of the Brotherhood?"

He kept his eyes focused on the wood grain of her dining table, tracing the meandering lines with his glare. He didn't see her nod but continued anyway.

"We've been at odds with them for as long as I can remember... Pop kept it all calm though. It escalated when Gregor took over... he was just itching for a fight. It got worse and worse and all turned to a shitpile when Gregor... well.. he raped and murdered one of their ladies. I didn't do nothing but defend myself when they came for him, I swear. Near on the whole gang... both gangs, were taken in by the cops. Gregor wasn't, he'd fucked off before they arrived."

She was going to regret asking this.

"How did he die?"

His eyes flicked up to hers for a moment before dropping back down to the table.

"Shot 'im... didn't even mean to."

Something occurred to her then... it had passed through her mind before, but she had dismissed it then.

"Do you have a gun right now?"

He looked at her, met her wary eyes.

"No." He peeled back his vest to reveal an empty shoulder holster. He HAD a gun, just not on him. "It's on my bike." He said sheepishly.

He coughed and let his vest rest back where it had been and sat staring into space, silent as the grave.

"A'hem." Sansa cleared her dry throat and took a sip of her now luke warm coffee. It didn't seem to help. "Jon said you'd been in prison twice."

"I got five years for manslaughter as well..." he continued on hesitantly. "I meant to hurt the guy, I didn't mean for him to die. I punched him a few times, he was a lot smaller than me..."

He'd killed TWO people. Sansa closed her eyes. This was not exactly an exemplary situation. She'd had an idea that he was not the most virtuous of men, one did not go to prison for jay-walking after all, but maybe... what else could one go to prison for? Drugs?

"He'd made a play for my girl, I was drunk... it was a bar fight, that's all."

Wait... His girl?

He looked up again and met her wide, surprised eyes. He smirked.

"I might not have got my rocks off at fifteen, but I ain't a fucking pussy. I had girls. I'm thirty-six for fucks sake."

Sansa flushed and sipped her now cold coffee again.

"And what happened between you two. That girl and you?" She asked with an uncomfortable stirring in her belly.

What was that feeling? She'd never felt that before.

"Ha, I went to prison... she didn't wait 'round for me." He laughed. "Didn't expect her to."

"I would." She said absently, without thinking.

"Would what? Wait five years? What the fuck for?" He was amused.

"I would wait for the man I loved, who defended my honour." Sansa lifted her chin. "Five years, ten years.."

"Who said anything about love? We were fucking." He shook his head in wonderment at her. "What a world you live in, little bird."

She blushed deeply at that. She may be a little naive, she conceded. But she was what she was and that was not going to die away completely.

They sat in silence for a moment and she ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup and looked up at him through her lashes.

"Have..." She started hesitantly, not sure why it was so important to her. "A-hem, have there been... a lot... of girls?"

If her face became any redder she was certain it would precede some kind of messy explosion.

Sandors face grew dark and his eyes became angry all over again.

"No." He said softly, his voice grating. "Not since..."

He stopped speaking and stood up from his seat abruptly causing her to jerk back from him again. She had expected him to be amused, to mock her again... to ask if she was jealous... which she wasn't, don't be ridiculous.

She had not expected rage.

He stomped around her apartment for a moment: burning off excess energy, maybe formulating a response, cooling his temper... Sansa wasn't sure but sat quietly and patiently while following him with her eyes as he prowled around her furniture like a battered junk yard dog searching for an intruder.

He shocked her yet again by swooping down on her. He was looming for a moment before dropping down to a knee at her side. His stormy eyes bored into hers through long strands of disheveled dark hair. The scar on his face pulled tight, his cheek twitching furiously.

His massive hand came up and swept a few wisps of her hair aside that had escaped her from bun and his calloused fingertips lingered over her cheek.

"Little Bird." He whispered. "Sansa... I ... There haven't... Fucking Hell. Listen." He was struggling to find words but his tone was almost imploring. She had no idea what he wanted to tell her, what he needed to say so she just smiled encouragingly and waited. She raised her fingertips and touched his as they hovered over her face, pressing his rough hands to cup her cheek.

His adams apple gulped in his throat and he drew a deep breath.

"There have been two girls." He said, his voice a little strained. "May, who I went to prison over and Deirdre... " He took a moment and ground his teeth together. The gale was beginning to swirl again. "I liked Deirdre." he said hoarsely. "My ... my brother found out I liked her. He took her from me."

It was vague, but Sansa, even knowing so little about Gregor Clegane, knew that Deirdre was dead. And that Sandors brother had killed her. She did not want to think about how or why or anything else.

"I haven't even looked at another woman since... I haven't dared." He said softly. "until you came into The Keep that night."

He eased his hand out from under hers and sat back from her.

"Gregors done now... fucker's out of my life. When they set the execution date. I'll be in the front fucking row and I'll have a glass of champagne to sip as they flip the switch. Hells, I'll even offer to do it for them. Believe that." He barked out a humourless laugh. "You're way too good for cunt like me, I'm punching well above my weight here. But if I have even the smallest chance with you, Gods damn, I'm going for it."

He watched her from his position on her floor. It couldn't have been too comfortable on his knees. It was Italian marble, it would be cold too. She would considering getting a new rug for her dining area.

"If I haven't scared you off, that is." He added a little doubtfully.

Had he scared her off?

She thought back on what he'd said... He'd KILLED people and that wasn't even what distracted her. A couple of faceless women is what filled her head and swirled her tummy with a tight unfamiliar feeling. She pictured a couple of beautiful and sassy woman. May was probably blonde and bold. Deirdre, raven haired and dark eyed and a little naughty. They were probably streetwise and gritty but still feminine. They looked spectacular in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket, she was sure. They knew how to use their bodies to please a man and were ready and willing to offer it up whenever they felt the inclination or call to do so.

Sansa Stark was a pampered, overly romantic, guileless, starry-eyed Northern virgin. What could she offer this man. This world-weary, emotionally stunted, hot-blooded man.

He was still staring at her expectantly... actually he was beginning to look a little vexed. There was a line appearing in his brow and it got deeper with every second that she didn't respond.

What would happen if she answered in the positive? Would they date? Sandor didn't look like the dating type. He didn't strike her as the candle light and canapes kind of guy.

If she answered in the negative, he would leave.

"You haven't scared me." She started softly, her tone low and subdued.

She sounded hesitant. She wasn't. She knew what she wanted but she was certain that it could only end badly. For her mostly. Without his brothers heinous and oppressive shadow on him now, Sandor could find another lady with minimal effort. Hadn't he just said that he denied himself because of Gregors influence?

She was not so sure about herself. Her level of trust in the opposite sex had been greatly diminished of late. Trust was reserved for the men in her family and the man on his knee in front of her.

"You have a chance with me... a very small one." She smiled, trying to bury her uncertainty. She reached out and touched the line in his brow with her pointer finger. It had smoothed when she took it away again and maybe the twitch in his scarred cheek was not just for when she had irked him.

His mouth quirked in a funny half smile.

"Right... right... " He rasped. "So, where do we go from here?"

"We go on a date?" she replied, already knowing what the response to that would be.

He glared at her but surprisingly, didn't snark at her.

"Here's what I propose." She countered the disagreement in his pointed look. "We go on two outings together... not 'dates'. One for me and one for you."

He raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, still hunkered down on her floor at her eye level.

She plowed on bravely. "My one is easy. Dinner."

He sneered.

"It doesn't have to be fancy, just takeout in a public place if you want, i'll leave it up to you. I don't even want flowers or anything." She raced on. "and the other is your choice, you tell me a time and day and I'll be ready when you come to collect me ... or I'll be at whatever location you want to meet me."

He narrowed his eyes at her and smirked.

"I will not be having intercourse with you as an outing." She stated flatly.

He pouted and she wanted to giggle at the irritated look on his face.

"Fine," He growled. "Deal."

He stood up of the floor, his movements fluid and graceful. She had thought that before... about the way he moved. He towered over her.

"Mine first." He rasped down at her. "Saturday at seven."

Oh.

"I can't" She said quickly.

A feral kind of rumble started in his chest.

"I'm going home this weekend to see my family." She said as she held out a placating hand.

She saw him grind his back teeth together.

"Next Saturday at seven." He grumbled. "I have shit to do this week."

She smiled and nodded at him. "I'll be ready."

"Wear something red." His mouth twitched again... irritation or smile?... who knows.

"I can't" She said again.

"Why not?" he snapped.

"I'm a redhead." She said like it obvious to all and sundry how gauche that would be.

"And?"

That twitch was irritation... she was getting better at this.

"Okay then, I'll wear red... next Saturday at seven."

That one was a smile. A smug, satisfied one. Pat on the back, Sansa.

He leaned down suddenly and brushed his lips over hers. It was brief and soft and when he pulled away his eyes were warm and liquid, like molten steel.

"I need your number." She murmured up at him.

With his eyes glued to hers, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "I can never remember it" he rasped softly.

She tore her eyes from his and looked down... and her breath caught.

There was a picture of her as his wallpaper. She sort of recognised it. It was the one that Bronn had snapped of her. It was quite nice actually; with the pretty light yellow sundress and the sun sparking off her fiery hair... a glimpse of the bay behind her. She looked up at him and nearly gasped again.

Was He Blushing?

She decided to ignore his awkwardness and put on a business-like tone.

"I'll just put my number in yours, shall I?... and you can text me later?" She didn't look up to see if he nodded or not. She just opened his contacts added her name and number and handed it back.

He slid in back into his pocket without looking at her, his unscarred cheek stained a deep pink... a good colour on him.

She cleared her throat trying to think of something to say. She didn't need to. Sandor turned from her quickly and strode to the door of her apartment pausing to throw over his shoulder.

"See you next Saturday, Little Red Bird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Talky-Talk-Talk Chapter. Sandor can do more than grunt. And it needs to be gotten out of the way now, I think. I dunno, it's just how it came out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting 12 & 13 together 'cause I actually wrote 13 first and had to go back and write 12. Some people didn't get alerts for 11 either. It's a Mad world.

Chapter 12

It was as she had feared, she found herself locked in the dungeon.

Okay, that may be just a tad dramatic... she found herself locked in High Tea with her mother and Aunt Lysa, who had emerged from her mountain retreat newly engaged and blooming with smugness. She had snared Catelyn Starks former paramour (in his eyes at least, Cat had been oblivious to his one-sided affections). How Lysa had managed to ensnare him whilst sequestered away in the wilderness was beyond anyone. Arya had surmised that Lysa had contracted someone to kidnap him and that Lysa had slowly worn him down... like Kathy Bates in Misery but without the sledgehammer. It seems that there was a lot to be said for Stockholm Syndrome as Petyr Baelish was now able to attest.

It was pure unadulterated torture and Sansa regretted coming home. Her father and brothers being men, and Arya being ... well Arya, were excused from Tea. Sansa being a lady, was not.

AND as if the pink taffeta swathed and simpering aunt wasn't bad enough, there was also a sprinkle of Sansas old school Septa as well.

She plastered her face with polite interest and tittered in all of the correct places. She was a little miffed that her mother had banned the use of her cell phone during the visit. Sansa was curious to see if Sandor had texted her yet. He had not contacted her since he had stomped from her apartment on Thursday evening. It was Sunday. It was brunch. Sansa was returning to Kings Landing tonight and she did not know biker gang etiquette for such things as post-invitation, pre-outing contact.

Sansa bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling after her Aunt Lysa insipidly enquired after Septa Mordanes love life. They had been sitting together for a good hour by now and Lysa obviously didn't recognise the woman who had taught not only her but generations of Tully, Stark and many more 'highborn' women. Undeterred, Lysa then launched into an excited description of her potential wedding gown which, if the picture in Sansas head was correct, would resemble a pink parachute.

It was all such cruel and unusual punishment... and she wasn't even being punished for anything. Despite the odds, her parents had not heard that she had met Sandor Clegane since her meltdown in the reception of Tully, Stark & Umber, which considering Sansas social circles, was completely unheard of.

Sansa let her mind drift from Lysas monologue, singlehandedly debating the virtues of Hydrangeas over Rhododendrons as table decorations.

He was supposed to text her so she could have his number. He was so rude. She thought that maybe, if things were to progress, that she may have to have a word with the giant, beastly man about his manners. They were from quite different worlds, socially at least, and if they wanted to move forwards to goodness-knows-what, they needed to find a way to communicate effectively... to bridge social boundaries as it were. She obviously didn't speak 'street' and he was oblivious to her Highborn, Motherhouse etiquette as well. Hmmm... what to do?

He kissed very well. He had said that he'd only been with two other girls. He had honed the craft very well indeed if that were the case. His tongue was quite nimble. Nimble was not a word normally associated with such large men, she mused. He tasted quite nice. She didn't recall registering a taste at the time but...

He had very large hands. He had lifted her from the ground like she had weighed nothing at all and his one hand had almost spanned her entire bum. They were very warm too.

He was so very strong. The way he lifted her? He had not strained at all... Sansa strained picking up her laundry basket. He had lifted Mr Blackwater off the ground with one hand... a fully grown man. Imagine what he could do to Sansa with one hand.

He'd popped the seam on his shirt when he did it... his muscles literally bursting out.

She had felt... IT. As he lowered her to the ground after their kiss, as she had slid down his tall, hard body she had felt the bulge of his desire for her. It had been a very big bulge. She'd had Joffery rub up against her in the past and he had not been nearly as daunting... Really, it was like comparing a tube of Smarties to a zeppelin... and the way he had looked at her.

Those eyes. Be-still my beating heart, those incredible stormy grey eyes. She felt like tiny boat adrift in a hurricane when looking into his eyes. Sansa sighed dreamily.

"Yes ,I quite agree Sansa dear. It all sounds so magical, Lysa." Catelyn Starks voice cut through Sansas daydreaming.

Sansa gave herself a mental slap and looked over at her mother. Catelyn was eyeing her daughter suspiciously. Lysa had a superior look, thinking Sansas romanctic sighs were all for her and her pending fairytail wedding. Septa Mordane glanced at Catelyn and then addressed Sansa in her most serene tone.

"And how are you faring, Sansa?" She asked, exuding tranquility. "Your mother tells me that you are prone to nightmares and panic attacks."

"Mother!" Sansa snapped accusingly, quite shocked. "I haven't had a bad dream in a long time and the small episode at the office was a one-off occurrence. I am most certainly not prone to anything."

"Of course dear, but please remember anytime that you wish to talk, or even pray, you must come to see me. The Wintertown Sept is always open and I will always have a cup of tea and a willing ear to lend."

"Thank you Septa." Sansa smiled, the heat draining out of her tone. "Your concern is touching but I assure you that I am well."

Lysa huffed across the table seeing as the focus was no longer on her, she had lost interest in Tea.

"Well Ladies, this has been lovely but I really must take my Sweet Robin for walkies." She announced, leaning over in her chair to retrieve the large bag containing her aggressive little Chihuahua. "He has a full tummy after all of those sandwiches, don't you sweetums? Yes, you do."

She stood from the table gracefully and slung the bag over her shoulder. "Catelyn, a lovely brunch as always. Sansa, nice to see you looking better. And marvelous to see you again Mrs Morgan. I shall take my leave now. " She nodded her head and swept from the room.

Catelyn sighed. "I do apologise Septa Mordane..."

"Oh, no need Cat. Lysa has always been slightly, well... self absorbed. I take no offence." She waved her hand airily. "I see that brunch has reached its conclusion and it was indeed wonderful. Nan has outdone herself yet again. If you'll both excuse me, I shall visit with her before I leave." The Septa stood up taking both Catelyns and Sansa hands, giving them a squeeze and the turning to leave the room.

Sansa turned to her mother. "Mum, what have you been telling people?" She asked a little impatiently.

"Sansa, dear I'm sorry, but the Speta is like my confessor. I tell her everything and she helps me work through my concerns."She explained taking one of Sansashands. "I was frightened for you dear. I worry about you, all by yourself in Kings Landing... and when that man showed up at the office...Well, I never!"

"Mother, I'm not all by myself. I have uncle Edmure and Brynden and uncle Benjen. I've got Jon and Ygritte and now Daddy too. At a pinch, I have the Tyrells, the Baratheons and the Lannisters to call on if I should require help."

"The Baratheons." Cat ground out. "Your father is playing golf with Robert next week." This seemed to irk Cat greatly.

"Yes... and he asked me if he could first." Sansa said calmly, "What happened that night wasn't Mr Baratheons fault... it wasn't even Jofferys fault really. It was Meryn Trants fault and he is currently serving time for it. Which brings me to Mr Clegane." Sansas voice hardened just a little. "He did come to the office, you know that I wrote a letter of thanks to him... He was merely there to warn me away from himself as I told you. The fact that his visit coincided with a minor incident was purely circumstantial and that is the end of it."

It was all true, a lot was left out, but omission was not a lie.

Catelyn Stark wanted to argue with her normally obedient daughter, but heeded Septa Mordanes previously given advice to leave her be.

\-------------------------------- * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ---------------------------------------

Sansa returned to her apartment that evening after tearful goodbyes and hugs all around. Her fathers car dropped her off and the driver lugged her oversized and overfilled case up for her. Sansa went straight to bed. With the exception of her Ladys fluffy presence on her bed at night, the rest of the trip was trying. She was exhausted.

She went about her regular week. She worked and she studied ,she arranged for a shopping trip with Margaery to find a red dress to wear out on Saturday evening... if, in fact, it was still going to occur at all. Sansa wasn't sure. She'd had no confirmation, no call or text, no visits. She ploughed ahead anyway.

She had a free afternoon on Thursday and they met up at the Holdfast to do some indepth analysis of fabrics, cuts and shades.

"So ..." Margaery said slyly. "Why the sudden fashion deviation? I was told... by you no less, that you can't wear red or orange... and now a specific dress is required.." She shuffled through a rack of apparel with a small conspiratorial smile on her pretty face.

"I mean..." She continued when she garnered no response "this couldn't possibly have anything to do with an extraordinarily large gentleman with a penchant for leather, motorcycles and dubious legal issues."

Sansa buried her face in a curtain of crimson velvet, that may have been a ball gown.

"Sansa Stark, you dirty slut!"

Sansa gasped and spun on her friend, finding a wide Cheshire grin. Sansa eyes were wide and affronted . "That is a scurrilous falsehood Miss Tyrell, take that back immediately."

"I shall not, Miss tiny red dress." Margaery crowed. "Oh, does this mean I may get to meet that devilishly handsome bit of rough from the waterfront? Never did give me his name, the prat. Wouldn't mind him nibbling on my toes, I have no problem admitting that." She giggled wickedly.

"His name is Bronn Blackwater and he is a horrid man. As for Mr Clegane, nothing has happened between us but..." Sansa muttered defensively. "Well, we kissed a bit, and we have an outing this weekend. Not a date... an UN-date, a non-date?"

Margaery cocked her finely shaped eyebrow. "Indeed? A non... date?"

"Hmmmm." Sansa pulled out a fiery little halter dress. "Sandor is not the dating type, but I... we ... wanted to get to know each other better, so he's taking me somewhere on Saturday... I think, he hasn't confirmed yet." She put the dress back.

Margaery was giving her a calculated look. 

"And the red dress?"

"He asked me to wear red... I told him it's not a good colour on me, but he seemed set on it. I think it's because he wanted me to look slutty even though he knows I won't sleep with him" Sansa shrugged with a blush.

"The impression that he's shagging you to maintain his precious, hard man reputation?" Margaery pursed her lips. "That's fine, I guess." 

Margaery pulled out a small sleeveless skater dress in an eye-catching scarlet and looked it over.

"And you're not sleeping with him?"

"No. I can't do that... not until I'm married, you know that." Sansa replied, wishing that she would just stop blushing all of the time. It was seriously getting tedious.

Margaery examined the dress in her hand for a moment. "This one." She said holding it out.

It was sexy. High necked and clingy with a flair in the short skirt that was a little flirty. 

"It says virginal sex kitten to me." Margaery quipped. "and the colour is nice."

Sansa looked it over uncertainly. She owned shorter dresses, the one with daisies was smaller and she had worn that out in public, for a whole day no less... this one was certainly going to flatter her figure.

"Sans, if you need to talk, you know I can be more than just a shopping companion right?"

Everyone suddenly wanted to talk to her. Was she acting so very out of character?

Well... yes, she was. But Margaery was not supposed to be serious.

"He's not what everyone thinks Margie... not at all." Sansa smiled softly. "and it's not just because he's my Hero either... there's something there, you know?" 

Margaery took in the imploring wide blue eyes and knew that Sansa was incapable of being anything but genuine. The girl simply could not lie.

"I understand." She grinned. "Try this dress... and tell me what you know about Bronn Blackwater. Grandmother would flip if I bought him home."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sansa fretted.

She had heard nothing from Sandor all week, she had no idea if he would still come.

Regardless, she diligently prepared for her first non-date. She was a woman of her word. She had said that she would be ready and she would be... and she would look smashing.

She carefully removed the tissue paper from her little red dress with the flirty flared skirt, which Margaery assured her did not look in the least bit slutty, and slipped on her low red heels. She had chosen something conservative, just in case.

She left her hair loose, to whisper around her shoulders and kiss her waist and she applied the barest amount of makeup... just to enhance her eyes and lips.

And then she waited. She was too nervous to sit, so she stood awkwardly in her own entrance way and stared at her front door with her fingers interlaced, clenching and unclenching.

Was he coming? What time was it? They hadn't confirmed. Did he even remember? She couldn't call him to check, he hadn't texted her like he was supposed to she hadn't his number. She bit on her lip and extracted her newest cell phone from her black clutch. 6.59PM... that was fine, right?

She held her cell in her palm and glanced back up at her door... willing it to shudder with a heavy handed knock.

At 7.04PM it did just that and instead of leaping towards it to admit the noise maker, she faltered. She stared at the door her heart pounding... in her stomach, which was just unusual.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and took a deep breath thinking again, what did one do on a non-date outing with Sandor Clegane?

She reached for her door handle and, after flinching back at the next loud knock... (even his knocking sounded curt) she eased the door open.

He looked down at her as the door cracked open and his eyes widened slightly, his cheek twitched and Sansa smiled shyly in response. He didn't say anything to her, just held out his hand for her to take. She stepped out into the corridor, locked her apartment door and turned back tucking the key into her clutch with her phone. She slid her small hand into his and allowed herself to be led away.

The trip down to the ground floor was silent but she felt his eyes on her. It was very nearly a tangible touch, like he was dragging his hands up and down her body. His hand was very large and her own was lost in the depths of his hot, rough fist.

"You look..." He rumbled softly, stopping abruptly and not continuing making Sansa fret even harder.

I look...? 'I look' what? Like a tramp? Like a firecracker? Like WHAT? Should she thank him for what could have potentially been a compliment? It might have been an insult... she would never know.

The elevator dinged and the doors swished open revealing a wide eyed Mr Manderly. His somewhat panicked gaze swept from Sansa, up to Sandor and down to their linked hands. Sandor started to exit the car as if he wasn't there at all.

"Sansa dear, uhh..." Mr Manderly started hesitantly. Sandor stopped and glared at the man for addressing her so familiarly.

Sansa touched her fingertips to his forearm gently to bring his attention to her and she smiled reassuringly.

"Mr Manderly, how are you this evening?" She greeted her landlord.

"Well, " He began, casting a look back up at her looming non-date. "Dr Pycelle complained a little bit about the noise from your ... guests... vehicles. I'm afraid that they were less than receptive to criticism when I asked them to keep it down."

Sansa looked confused... vehicles? plural?

"I'm so very sorry, sir" Sansas tone was conciliatory. "I shall have a word to them for you. It won't happen again I assure you, sir. I apologise and please send my regrets to Dr Pycelle." She smiled sweetly at him and after he cast one more look at Sandor standing silent next to her he nodded.

"Of course dear. You have a ... pleasant evening" he said with a shaky sort of grimace that was supposed to be a smile.

Sansa took Sandors hand again and gently tugged him out of the elevator car past Mr Manderly. Sandor narrowed his eyes at the old man and a low rumble started in his chest as he passed.

As they stepped out into the parking lot Sansa understood what Mr Manderly was talking about. A dozen motorcycles littered the area each draped with a surly looking biker.

Sandor ignored them and led her over to his chopper. Sansa looked at the monster machine with some trepidation. She had factored in the motorcycle when she thought of her non-date, but she was still somewhat scared of it.

"Mya." Sandor grunted.

A small, curvy woman almost dressed in very short denim cut-offs and a white breast band under her Westermen vest came forwards and wordlessly handed Sansa a black helmet and then walked away again. Her bottom was not even properly covered, the cheeks were only half covered in fabric. Goodness, that was quite brave.

"You been on a bike before?" Sandor asked.

Sansa looked down at the helmet and shook her head briefly.

He grunted . "Just hang on, Aye."

He sat on the chopper. Sansa frowned down at the helmet cradled uncertainly in her hands. She'd get hat hair.

She sighed and gingerly placed the helmet on her head and buckled it under her chin and sat modestly on the leather seat behind Sandor. She sat sideways. Her legs crossed elegantly, her heel resting on a little metal outcropping that she believed was its purpose and she placed her hands on either side of his taut waist.

He chuckled in front of her. "I was sure I'd get between your thighs somehow tonight... Oh well" he rasped, before kicking his bike to life.

She snorted incredulously at the mans gall and then blushed... snorting was not ladylike.

She gasped as the bike moved off and tightened her grip on his waist. The rest of the bikes roared to life in his wake and followed in a disorganised kind of convoy. Sansa didn't need to wonder where they are going but she found it kind of ironic that he had warned her away from the place only to take her there at the first opportunity that he got. She guessed it was his home turf and he needed to feel comfortable.

She found the ride out to Casterley Road and The Keep quite pleasant. It was warm but the breeze kept her cool. She leaned into Sandors back, it was wide and warm and so solid that she could feel nothing but safe while pressed against him. As they all pulled into the parking lot of the The Keep she was almost sad that the trip was over.

Sandor waited for her to gently dismount and then rose from his bike to look down on her.

"Not too bad?" He asked.

"No." Sansa replied with a flush and a smile. "That was very diverting."

"... and that means good?" He said with a small frown.

She grinned up at him. "Yes." She confirmed. "It was good."

His burned cheek twitched and he reached for her hand.

The rest of his posse had parked up and had either dispersed or were loitering about outside as he led her towards the road house. She dutifully followed along behind him, tummy fluttering with nerves and her small hand engulfed in his giant mitt.

She choked and stared in open-mouthed horror as the large ginger-bearded man that she had seen help Bronn on the waterfront casually sauntered out of the bar wearing absolutely nothing but his tatty black leather Westermen vest. She flushed and averted her eyes quickly. It was all pasty skin and ginger body hair, tattoos and dangly bits. Sandor did not react at all, he just tugged on her hand and kept on walking.

He shoved his way through the door and stopped on the threshold.

"Listen up." He roared causing Sansa to jump and the bar to instantly quiet. All eyes turned to the door. "This is my girl." He pointed at Sansa as she looked at up him somewhat stunned. "Her name is Sansa. If any of you wankers treat her with anything other than the deepest fucking respect, I'll rip your useless head off and fuck your throat hole. Understand?" He had a pretty good grasp of anatomy, Sansa thought with a shudder.

There was a murmur about the bar which could be interpreted as assent and he grunted.

"Bronn. That goes doubly for you, you cunt."

Sansa spotted the grinning rogue by the bar.

"Yes Boss." he chorused.

Sandor nodded and looked down at Sansa.

"I have to take a piss, Little Bird. Go get a drink, I'll be right back." He turned without waiting for a reply and stomped off.

She wrinkled her nose. He didn't need to expound on his bodily functions quite so openly. She shook it off and looked around her for a moment and knew why he had wanted red. The bar was populated with people clad in black, white and varying shades of grey. She looked like a single blushing rose in a sea of monochrome. He had wanted her to be unmistakably visible.

Sansa had little doubt that Sandors threat was real, though not literal. She felt very secure as she wandered over to the bar even though dozens of pairs of eyes followed her.

Sansa didn't really drink. She'd had champagne at special events but then only a glass before she switched to juice or soda water and she also thought it best to keep her wits about her

"May I please have a pomegranate juice?" Sansa asked the tall bar-lady politely.

Brienne gave her a long flat look before turning away. She turned back and popped the cap off of an Arbor Gold Lager on the edge of the bar top and thumped it onto the bar in front of her. The fizzy liquid sloshed in the bottle and overflowed a little with the force of it. Brienne leaned on the bar and gave Sansa a snide smile and lifted a challenging eyebrow.

"Oh... thank you." Sansa smiled graciously undeterred and picked up the frothy beverage and bought it hesitantly to her lips.

She took a cautious sip and wrinkled her nose. It was fizzy like champagne but bitter. It had a not entirely unpleasant crisp and earthy aftertaste so she decided it wasn't so bad. She took another sip and smile pleasantly at Brienne who tilted her head in return and Sansa thought that the woman smiled as the turned towards the next customer.

Sansa felt someone come up next to her and turned her head in greeting only to gasp and blush. The large, mostly naked ginger was back.

"Hello." he saluted her with a grin.

"Uhh." She faltered.

"Tormund." He said, extending his hand to her.

"Uhhh." She replied, desperately keeping her eyes on his. Hoping that when she shook his hand, it was indeed his Hand.

"So, you and the Boss, aye?" He went on conversationally. "He's a bit rough, but he'll treat you right. Just be patient with 'im."

"No one is going to take you seriously while your cock is out, flapping about like a wet sock." Brienne snapped impatiently at the big ginger. Sansa hadn't noticed that she was back across the bar from them. "At least put some pants on before you try to dispense life lessons."

Tormund looked injured.

"Tormund, fuck off." Sandor said as he appeared at Sansas side, accepting a large jug of some kind of dark beverage from Brienne and an empty glass.

Sansa was pulled gently away from the bar and lead deeper into the road house, passed many curious stares. Sansa noted that a couple were not very friendly and that those ones, were female. Sandor was not as unpopular as he may have believed.

He led her to a back room filled with pool tables and ramshackle sofas. There was a wide wooden ledge around the whole room a place drinks on while games were played and barstools to perch on in between turns. Sandor put down his drink (or drinks) on one of the ledges and wandered over to a free table and started to rack up the coloured balls.

"Choose a cue." He invited, waving towards a wall rack filled with pool cues of different heights and weights. "I'll let you break"

Sansa placed her beer down on the ledge and looked over the rack uncertainly. She had no idea what she was doing. There was a massive billiards table in the loft at Winterfell, but Sansa had never played. The boys had always hogged it. Her dad took his friends up there every now and then to disappear in a cloud of cigar smoke and brandy fumes. There was almost always raucous laughing and her mum never deemed it appropriate for Sansa to observe either.

"Can't choose?" His deep, rough voice rumbled from behind her.

She looked up at him with an apologetic smile. "I'm not really sure how to choose."

"You've never played pool before?" He sounded a little incredulous.

"I wasn't ever allowed to do anything even remotely masculine. However... I could embroider the dickens out of your jeans, if you would like." She grinned up at him and his lips twitched a little in response.

"Tall and light." He said a bit absently, looking her over. His eyes lingered in a few choice locations that had nothing to do with pool cue selection and Sansa blushed.

He tore his eyes away from her and picked up two pool cues weighing each thoughtfully. "This one." He said, handing her one of the cues. He took up a slightly longer one for himself and bought her to the table to thoroughly chalk the tips

He explained the rules to her and nodded in satisfaction when she smiled in understanding. She took her place at the head of the table and looked at the balls laid out before her. She leaned over the table and lined up her shot.

"You hold it like this." He rumbled interrupting her concentration by coming up behind her.

He positioned her hands on the pool cue correctly and slowly bent her over the table again to line up the shot. Goodness... this was a little intimate, she thought as his chest leaned gently over her, his hips were flush with hers, his arms came up over hers and she was all but cocooned within him.

He drew back her arm and pushed the shot. The white ball rolled and clacked against the triangle of coloured balls at the other end sending them careening off in different directions. None of them went in the holes though. They stayed bent over the table for a little longer than they needed to and Sansa felt Sandors chest expand as he took a deep breath above her.

"You smell good." He whispered, his breath fluttering her hair against her cheek.

He stood himself up and stepped away before she could do anything other than blush. She was blushing a lot and the night had not really begun yet. She straightened and stepped away from the table. She went to take a sip of her drink and watched Sandor as he took his own shot. The fifteen ball sank and Sansa tipped her head to the side in sudden understanding.

"It's just geometry, isn't it." She said as he walked around the table to where the white ball had stopped.

"Huh?" He replied, leaning down for his next shot.

"It's all about angles, right?" She said a little excitedly. "How you strike the white ball and how the white ball strikes the coloured ball determines direction and applied force."

"Okay." He said playing his next shot. The twelve ball bounced off the cushion, just missing the pocket and stopped just in front of it.

Sansa took a gulp of her beer and jumped from the stool she had been leaning against.

"It's my turn, right?" She chirped eyeing the table critically.

She could sink either the four or the six if the angled the shots correctly. If she went for the four she could potentially line up the six for a follow up shot. She leaned over the table waving off her non-date when he approached to 'help' her again. She didn't notice a few gang members enter the pool room taking up positions at the other tables as she focused on her task. She lined up the shot, holding the cue as Sandor had shown her. She struck the white ball solidly and it rolled across the table striking the four and sending it into the corner pocket. The white ball ricocheted back and stopped not far from where it started. Sansa lined up the second shot, already planning her third. If she hit it right, the white would hit the cushion and send it towards the three ball, lining it up for the side pocket and knocking the black out of the way. With a minor adjustment to her stance, she sent the white ball rolling again. With a loud clack, the six sank and the white rebounded back up the table knocking the black aside and lining up the three.

"You tinny bitch." She vaguely heard Sandor mutter, causing a laugh from the other group.

Sansa stepped back from the table to reassess, her quick eyes taking in the positions of all of the balls on the table. The one was blocked as was the seven. The five was open but at the other end of the table. Sink the three. Rebound the white over to the two. If she hit the two against the cushion, it would bounce back to the opposite pocket and leave his ten untouched. And so it went on... until Sansa has cleared the table of her balls leaving all only the eight to play.

She smiled brightly at Sandor. She was good at this, she could do a sport.

He looked bemused and a little grim.

One of the men at the other table laughed. "Shark!" the man shouted. "We're entering shark infested waters, people."

Sansas smile dimmed a little. Would he be upset if she beat him? Well, when she beat him. If she started losing now when she was only one shot away from winning, he would probably be unhappy that she 'let' him win. She fingered the chalked end of her cue doubtfully, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. She looked over at Sandor from beneath her lashes and was surprised when he suddenly grinned. An actual full-faced smile.

"Go on, Little Bird. Put it to bed." He nodded towards the table encouragingly.

Her smile flared to life again and she leaned in for her last shot. She tapped the white gently and sent it spinning. It kissed the black and the ball toppled into the side pocket.

Sansa gave a little jump and squeal. She had played sports... and won. She couldn't wait to tell Arya.

She turned back to Sandor only to find him directly in front of her. the man moved with no sound whatsoever. He caught her up under the arms and lifted her off the floor until they were nose to nose. He kissed her softly and set her down again with a smile.

"Good game, little bird... I'll put it down to my skill as a teacher though." he rasped, pulling her into his chest for a hug. He stood with her nestled against his chest and with his nose buried in her hair in the middle of the pool room for a moment before pulling her over to one of the stools. He sat down and to her surprise sat her one his knee. He poured himself some of the deep red drink and passed Sansa her beer.

And so she found herself perched demurely on Sandors large thigh, which was not unlike a broad and hard granite bench, nursing a pool cue in one hand and a slightly warm beer in the other. If only her mother could see her now. They sat there quietly for a moment. Sandor drinking with one hand and rubbing soft circles in her back with the other.

He set his drink down and settled his other arm around her front, his large hot palm on her opposite thigh.

"The boys at that table over there are the Kettleblack twins, Osmund and Osney." He nodded at the table which had two similar looking dark haired men playing, with the same curvy almost dressed lady who gave her the helmet, nearby watching. "They were the Kettleblack Triplets but Osfryd was shot by the cops in a chase. They're arseholes, keep away from them." He took a deep breath of her hair again. "Mya Stone's their girlfriend." He said with a nod in her direction.

'Their' girlfriend? Both of them? Gracious.

"Tormund is the naked ginger. He's an arsehole too but he's harmless. No matter what he says, he never fucked a bear, so don't believe him when he tells the story. He's in love with Brienne. Bronns a bloody talker, but he's harmless as well even though he can be a cunt and I want to ram his head through a wall sometimes. Pod's the short guy over there. He's nice enough but stay away from him anyway." Sandor went through the list of his gang one after the other... pointing them out when they invariably strolled into the pool room. He was relaxed and seemed quite content with his bird sitting on his knee and in his arms.

His hand on her thigh roamed up her side as he spoke softly to her eventually making its way up over her shoulder, up her elegant neck and to her cheek. He gently turned her face to his with his calloused fingertips and touched his lips to hers. When she kissed him back his large hand unfurled to engulfed her cheek and the hand on her back shuffled her further up his thigh. His tongue slid across her bottom lip and she parted her lips for him allowing him to explore, her own tongue ventured out and tasted the tart but warming drink permeating his mouth. He groaned softly, his large hand moving to hold her fast to his lips, his long fingers tangling in her hair.

Sansa became lost. Her head spun and her heart raced at the feel of him conducting an all out assault on her mouth. Their tongues went from soft tastes and gentle caresses to warring and tussling. Her teeth scraped against his, her arms wound around his neck and her sense of propriety dissolved, much like her insides were at the moment, melting and pooling in her core like a lava flow.

There was a loud cough. It was actually the third such cough and louder than the previous two that Sandor and Sansa had not heard.

Sansa pulled back and blinked hazily at Sandor. It took a moment to stop panting, to realise that she was not at all where she had started on his thigh but now was straddling him. His arm was around her hips holding her tight to him, the other hand was inside her dress, his palm massaging her breast over her half cup bra. When had this happened?

Sandor looked wild eyed, focused intently on whomever had coughed.

"I bought you a refill." a familiar voice said.

Sansa watched mortified as a hand holding a beer came over her shoulder and placed the full frosty Arbor Gold on the ledge behind Sandor. It disappeared and returned a moment later with a full pitcher of the dark drink that Sandor was consuming.

"Just a reminder, Hound. No fucking in the pool room.' Briennes cool voice came from over Sansas shoulder "I won't have a repeat of the Blount episode."

Sandor growled but nodded sharply. Sansas face was AFLAME!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Sansa woke to her cell phone tinkling out a cheery tune about being on easy street that indicated that Margaery was calling her. She made a supremely dissatisfied sound and pushed the phone off her pillow and onto the floor with a thud. It continued to cheerfully sing up to her from the floor until the call finally diverted to voicemail.

Sansa Stark had never had a hangover before. She assumed that was what she was dying of. Brienne had continued to replenish her Arbor Golds throughout her non-date. Sansa had decided by the third drink that she quite liked it. It was cold and refreshing in the hot and stuffy roadhouse. One adjusted to the first tang of bitterness by the second sip and it slowly became very moreish. She couldn't say that she became intoxicated, but she was certainly exceedingly merry by the time Sandor had carried her out of the roadhouse. Make no mistake, she was very capable of walking on her own, he had just wanted to carry her. He was nice like that.

When he had decided it was time for her to go home, he, with his characteristic abruptness, interrupted an interesting conversation that Sansa was having with one of the nice young men that Sandor had pointed out to her earlier in the evening. His name was Podrick and he was interested in Sansas savant-like skill at pool. She was part way through explaining her mathematics and accounting degree and he had made a terribly amusing pun about square roots and hidden derivatives that set Sansa off giggling wildly when Sandor had swept her up in his arms and stomped away with her. It was a little muzzy in her head, but she imagined it was awfully romantic to be carried bridal style out to the parking lot. He had sat her in front of him on his chopper and cuddled her into his torso. She had hummed contentedly and snuggled in close. She wondered vaguely what had happened to her shoes.

She had wanted to know more about Sandor and she certainly did now. He drank Red Wine!... by the bucket load. She had no idea that one could purchase wine by the pitcher. It was good wine too, not some boxed stuff that one could procure from the supermarket. It was expensive, oak aged Dornish Red. He was a wine snob, even worse than her uncle Edmure! Brienne even poured the pitchers well in advance so that the wine could breath and warm gently to room temperature.

He had three big black dogs whom he had shockingly named Stranger, Warrior and Smith. Sansas mother would absolutely not approve of such blasphemous names, but after seeing a picture of them on his phone Sansa didn't mind too much. They were touched by the gods. Sandor had saved them from his brothers dog fighting pit, they were big scarred beasts with sad eyes that now spent their days roaming the yard of the motorcycle customisation workshop that Sandor owned and lived at.

She learned also that he hated most of his peers. Sandor tolerated Tormund, Bronn, Podrick and a couple of others but as he had previously stated: The rest were scum.

Brienne was not a peer he told her. Brienne owned the bar... "she was okay", he had muttered grudgingly, respect evident in his tone and soft look.

Sansa had felt that weird feeling in her tummy again, swirling and tight. Brienne was not a great beauty but she was pretty and very tall. She had tried to ask subtly if he and Brienne had ever... well... you know, entertained the idea of maybe... She was a little tipsy so it might not have been very subtle at all, but his cheek had twitched slightly and he had told her that Brienne would sooner kick him off a cliff than fuck him and he saw her as a kind of aunt that he periodically wanted to punch in the face. She found that quite reassuring.

There was one other woman that over the course of the evening had made Sansa quite uncomfortable. She had swanned into the pool room and had reclined on a ratty old sofa near the Kettleblack game to ostensibly speak to the lady named Mya, though her hot dark eyes were planted firmly on Sansa and they were not particularly friendly. Sandor had uncharitably called her a somewhat unhealthy girl who'd had an unfortunate previous encounter with a lover and that she was one of Gregors regular bedfellows.

Okay, what he had actually said was "She's a diseased slut who fucked Gregor a lot and smothered some cunt with her snatch."

Whomever she was, she seemed to take an instant dislike to Sansa.

When Sandor had toted Sansa up to her apartment in what must have been the early hours of Sunday Morning... Sansa was performing a stellar rendition of a song she'd heard on someones cell phone (Brienne herself had been the one to throw the jukebox out of the window after there had been an argument about which songs to play... it had gotten quite heated, one was to understand). She couldn't remember the particulars exactly, but she recalled being able to 'play the guitar like a mother-fudging riot' or something like that.

He had placed her carefully on the floor outside of her door and fished around in her clutch for her keys. Sansa had thought that uproariously funny, watching such a large man holding such a small delicate little bag.

He had glared at her chortling form for a moment, before pressing her against her door, lifting her off the floor and snogging her to insensibility. Sansa had never been so close to losing her virginity than she had been at that moment... Tipsy, hoisted against a wall and wrapped around the big man like a limpet. His body shunted up against her so intimately, crotch to crotch, chest to chest and her little red dress shucked up around her hips. He was hard and rubbing almost urgently against her. The thin layer of scarlet satin and the placard of his jeans all that stood between her and what her Septa had described as ruination. Ruination had never felt so good.

If Sandor had not torn his lips from hers with a curse, dropped her back to the floor, pushed her forcibly into her apartment with a growl and slammed the door shut behind her, she might well have enjoyed her first time in the corridor of her apartment building. She didn't seem to mind at the time, standing a little confused and disorientated in her entrance way.

Now, however, she felt quite ill.

Not necessarily because of her somewhat wanton behaviour, more because she had consumed more booze than she had ever before.

Her cell phone began to tra-la-la at her from the floor again... that was Aryas tune. She dropped her pillow on it in an effort to muffle it and when that did not work she groaned in counterpoint, like that would help. Why did people do this? How was this fun?

She rolled ungracefully from her bed and miserably slouched into her bathroom. Septa Mordane would have tapped her on the back with a yard stick if she had seen, but to be honest Septa Mordane could shove it. Sansa couldn't be arsed standing up straight right now.

She stood in her shower and let the hot water sluice over her and waited patiently for the paracetamol to begin working... She would have some vegetable juice and dry toast and she would be absolutely great again. Ready to conquer the world on a Sunday morning... possibly afternoon...

She heard her cell again... unknown caller this time... She was a popular lass today.

She finished up her dousing and found her phone again and reviewed whom her fans were today.

3 missed calls from Margaery, 1 missed call from Arya, 1 from her dad (she didn't hear that one) and 1 missed call from unknown caller... and a text... from Sandor

The text took priority obviously.

*Ur turn*

Her turn.

She cracked her fridge with a smile and pulled out the yummy organic rye bread from the farmers market and poured a glass of V8. HER non-date was a DINNER non-date... Yay.

She called her voice mail as she thought about their dinner...

"Sans... how'd it go?... Call meeee." Margaery, call number one.

They could go to a short order diner... that would be fun or have fish and chips on the Bay...

"Sans... What did you get up to last night that you are not answering your calls?... call me, you tart." Margaery, call number two... Sansa rolled her eyes.

She didn't hold out hope of a fancy restaurant... most of the ones she knew had jacket and tie policies and that was simply laughable for Sandor.

"Sansa Stark... Please tell me you are being rogered right this minute... as soon as he pulls out, call me... squeee." Margaery call number three and Sansa snorted her vegetable juice.

The next one was Arya... and Sansa froze with her toast half way to her mouth and forgot all about dinner.

"DAD KNOWS."

She swallowed on her suddenly dry throat and placed her toast down.

She dropped her head to her chest and closed her eyes as her dads voice came through her tinny little phone speaker next.

"Sansa... I had a very troubling call from Wyman." His voice sounded quivery... like he was holding back a wave of emotions, "I'm concerned you're not answering. I'm on my way to your apartment. You had better be there, young lady."

Ohhh-noo, He pulled out the 'young lady' moniker. He hadn't done that in a long time. Sansa cringed.

It was bound to happen of course. True, she had not yet formed a viable plan of attack for when it all came to a head and she was in fact, potentially about to vomit up her V8 and toast and not because of her sudden alcoholism.

The unknown caller was a hang up.

Her dad must have called when she was in the shower.. it was the only call she didn't hear accept for Margaerys first two which would have been at an obscene hour of the morning when she went for her sunrise jog. How long was she in the shower? How long ago had that been? Had he been on the way when he called?

There was a loud and purposeful knock on her door.

Sansa held her breath... like a five year old.

"Sansa Stark... your keys are in the door." Her fathers muffled voice filtered through the door.

Were they?

She heard the tinkle of her keys turning in the lock and ducked down behind her kitchen island as the door opened and she heard her fathers measured footsteps on her marble floor.

"I can see the top of your head, young lady." He didn't sound amused.

Sansa stood up slowly and smoothed down the front of her yoga pants and tee shirt.

"Good Morning, Daddy."

"Good Afternoon." He said stiffly, as he looked her up and down. She was glad that she'd had time to wash, pain manage and consume sustenance. She was actually the very picture of innocence. "You didn't answer your phone."

"I was in the shower, dad." She said quietly and respectfully.

"Wyman called." Ned Stark said. "He advised me that you were carousing with undesirables. He said you were out with the Westermen Motorcycle Gang, that you were holding hands with a large man fitting the description of Sandor Clegane. Would you care to explain yourself?"

He locked eyes with her. His eyes were grey but they weren't at all like Sandors. Ned Starks eyes were calm... always controlled.

"No." Sansa said softly.

Ned blinked at her.

"Excuse me."

Sansa straightened her shoulders and lifted her head high.

"No, Daddy." She said firmly. "I would not like to explain myself."

Neds face began to turn the same shade as her new red dress.

"Sansa Stark, you absolutely have to tell me how much that man made you soil your knickers or I shall just burst." 

Sansas closed her eyes in defeat as Margaerys voice came from her doorway.

"Oh... Hello, Mr Stark... How...uhhh... are you today?"

It was time to die.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I think there was no alert for Chapter 14. Maybe there was and no-one was interested... sad face.

Chapter 15

Ned Stark had always been one who believed in self discipline. His control and calm composure were things he had prided himself on, as was his honour and sense of fairness. He was an honest man who weighed and measured before taking the correct action.

In the face of his daughters sudden defiance... She had said 'No' to him and had begun to sass him... in a kitchen that he paid for and with the faint scent of beer lingering about her. He felt his legendary even temper begin to waiver.

And then Miss Tyrell had breezed into the apartment that he paid for, implying with her customary disregard for propriety that his good girl was a harlot.

Sansa was not like his other children; She was not worldly like them, even his youngest were more streetwise.

She was not a boy. Arya was not a boy either, but she may as well have been. Sansa was sweet and innocent. Pius and humble. She had completed her Motherhouse education admirably (unlike Ayra, who was politely encouraged to leave the private school after only two months). She followed the faith, worked hard and studied hard. She never played up. She was a good girl.

Ned had felt a deep seeded sense of guilt a scant few months ago as he watched his good girl resting in a hospital bed, issuing soft whimpers whenever she moved. He thought that maybe they should have tried even harder to protect their soft-hearted daughter, kept her at Winterfell and not sent her alone to the capital so very unprepared.

Now she was being led astray by a man of bad morals.

Ned was, of course, thankful to Clegane for his timely intervention in his daughters attack but not enough to surrender his sweet innocent daughter to him as sacrifice. Not at all.

He remembered the moment Clegane had entered the courtroom at Trants trial to give his statement. Catelyn had gasped and clutched at his hand at the sight of the horror of a man... It had seemed at that moment that maybe there had been a mix up of some sort, that Clegane had been the attacker and Trant (a plain and even pleasant looking man) had been the saviour.

Clegane had growled out a perfunctory description of the events of that night and then stormed from the courtroom not sparing a single moment nor look to Sansas parents. Ned had felt a little guilty for his thoughts at the time. He felt guilty for not talking to the man who had saved his daughter... shaking his hand.

Well, not now that the man had set his sights in Ned Starks angelic daughter.

"Hello, Miss Tyrell." Ned said softly, trying to clear the red mist that had appeared before his eyes at her opening salutation.

"Erm... That's a lovely shirt, Mr Stark. Are you golfing today?" Margaery had faltered slightly but remembered social conventions for addressing one friends parents.

Sansa was silent, her head bowed.

Ned forced a slight smile. "That was the intent, yes." He cleared his throat discretely. "May I have a moment with my daughter, Miss Tyrell?"

Margaery cast a concerned look at Sansa before pasting on a amiable smile and nodding.

"I shall make use of the facilities to powder my nose and if Sansa doesn't object... I shall raid her wardrobe."

She did not wait to observe Sansas slight nod of assent, she breezed off deeper into the apartment and disappeared into the bedroom.

"I have a fair idea of what you are going to say, father." Sansa said as soon as the door closed with an unobtrusive click. She had no doubt Margaery had her ear pressed to said door but at least she gave the illusion of privacy. "I have no intention of debating or justifying my actions to you. I am almost twenty one years old. I work and study and have done what is expected of me and I believe that I have done well in those aspects. Due to recent events I have reassessed some of my priorities and abandoned some preconceived notions."

She looked up at her father who had placed his hands on his hips and had narrowed his eyes at her.

"I sought out Mr Clegane to thank him for helping me and in doing so I found him to be an amicable sort whom I wish to know better. I am aware of his criminal history, he has expounded on it himself. Despite the distressing nature of his past, I have decided to explore a cordial relationship with him. You may protest if you believe it will give you peace, but I have made my decision and father... It is final."

"Is it?" Ned responded coldly. "Is it final?"

"Yes." She said with conviction.

A thick layer of frost seemed to settle around the kitchen, ice seemed to shimmer in the air between the Starks.

Ned hurried forwards and took hold of Sansa shoulders and shook her hard.

"Have you lost your mind?" Ned shouted, his command of his emotions snapping. "If you think for one moment that I will allow my daughter to date a murderer...' He spluttered as he shook her again, not seeing anything but his anger. "You're returning to Winterfell. You're..."

"Get your fucking hands off her."

Sansas wide and frightened eyes shot from her fathers angry face to over his shoulder and she gasped. Sandor stood by her fridge, he had a cocked hand gun pointed at her fathers unprotected back and he had violence pouring from his stormy eyes.

"Sandor, NO!" She cried, pulling herself free from her dads grasp and rushing towards him.

He lowered the weapon quickly and tucked it inside his vest in time to catch her up and hold her to his chest.

Ned Stark turned and watched as his daughter took comfort in a man who had killed people, she was taking comfort from Clegane because of him. Ned Stark had scared his own daughter and she had fled from him. Clegane stared daggers at him over Sansas head, a vicious snarl upon his burned lips. Ned approached hesitantly though he wanted to storm over and wrench her from Cleganes arms. His eyes fixed on Cleganes as he reached out his hand to Sansas shoulder only to have Clegane tighten his grip on her and pull her further away.

"Sweetheart?" Ned said softly. "Come away from him, please... We can discuss this like adults."

Sansa turned her head from within the confines of Cleganes embrace and then looked up at Clegane. She reached up and touched his burned cheek drawing his eyes to hers. Cleganes face soften instantly.

"I'm okay." She said with a small weak smile. "My dad would never hurt me."

"I didn't know it was him." He rumbled back, "You looked scared, Little Bird."

She shook her head, "Just surprised... Why are you here?" She asked.

"Illyn had your shoes." He replied, "I don't know what he was gonna do with them, I doubt they'd fit 'im. I thought you'd want them back before he covered them with jizz."

Sansa wrinkled her nose at his crudeness.

Ned watched in astonishment. Had they forgotten he was even there?

"Sansa."

"Dad. I think I said my part succinctly and you said yours, making yourself abundantly clear." Sansa extracted herself from Cleganes arms and turned to face her father head on. "I am a grown up now, I am not some porcelain doll that needs to be wrapped in newspaper and kept in a little box." She stepped away from Clegane and stopped before Ned. "If this is a mistake, then it will be my mistake and I will learn from it. I'm not asking your permission."

Who was this person?

"Now." Sansa continued. "You have options; you can cut me off, fire me, get Uncle Benjen or Jon to arrest Sandor or myself for something or other." She shrugged, "but any of those things will only strengthen my resolve to see this through. I can be brave, Daddy. I can do things by myself if I need to."

"Mr Stark." Sandor rasped from his position across the kitchen. "No one will hurt her again, not while I'm around or I'll kill them. Believe that."

"If that was supposed to reassure me, Mr Clegane, you can be sure it does not." Ned retorted. "It simply reinforces what I already know about you."

"What you think you know, you mean." Sandor snapped back, his eyes sparking silver. "Littl... Sansa and I already had this conversation. If she still wants to see me, I'll see her. I won't hurt her, I won't fuck her, though I want to"

Sansa coughed delicately.

Ned clenched his jaw and sent a long look at his eldest daughter.

"I'm not going to cut you off, or fire you." He said evenly. "The gods know that would only drive you closer to Clegane. This will run its course Sansa and when you get your heart broken, your mother and I, and Winterfell, will be there for you." He turned on Clegane and looked up at the man, eyeing him threateningly. "If anything else is broken on my daughter, Mr Clegane, expect it to be the last thing you do... I'll make sure you're sitting right there next to your brother when he fries."

With that, Ned Stark left the kitchen and the apartment and left the room in silence.

Sansa sniffled and reached for an aloe infused tissue to dab at her eyes which were filled and threatening to overflow, Sandor ran his hand through his hair and smoothed it over his scarred side. He grimaced at Sansa as she continued to dab and sniff, though she was brave and didn't let a single tear actually spill.

"So, are we still doing dinner?" Sandor grunted.

Sansa laughed awkwardly.

"Yes, if you still want to..." She said uncertainly.

"I meant what I said, Little Bird." He growled. "Even the last bit." He scowled at the thought before shaking himself "I'll find a place to eat... Friday? Seven again?"

Sansa smiled and nodded.

He humfphed in satisfaction and turned. He disappeared out into the entrance way and Sansa had thought he had gone. He had a habit of wandering off without saying goodbye. But he came back holding her low heeled red shoes which he held out to her wordlessly.

She took them and murmured her thanks.

"You've got my number now. Call me, aye? If you need anything." He said a little bashfully.

She nodded again and smiled up at him. He reached out and tipped her head back a little further, letting his rough fingers trail across her chin, his eyes following their passage with a look of wonder. He suddenly dipped his head, kissed her fleetingly and then spun away, stomped out and left her standing alone in her kitchen.

He didn't say goodbye again, she thought with a huff.

"I get the feeling your dad doesn't like your boyfriend."

Sansa squealed. She had completely forgotten Margaery was there.

Hand on her heart to calm it's fluttering, Sansa walked over to her kettle to make tea.

"He's not my boyfriend. We're not even really dating." Sansa advised her a little haughtily.

Margaery rolled her eyes. "Oh please. I just saw that whole display and what I didn't see, I heard. He's mad for you and you think he's just peachy."

Sansa went about assembling her tea tray and didn't reply.

Margaery drew in a deep breath and let it out impatiently... "Fine then... How did the Undate go? I can tell from the 'I won't fuck her' statement that you didn't drop your knickers, more fool you."

Sansa walked passed her and deposited her tray on the table and set out her wares as she had always been taught. She sat modestly and adjusted the seams on her tee shirt as if she were wearing a ballgown.

"I played pool... and I won. And I drank beer and got a little tiddly. I met a man who'd had his tongue cut out and he stole my shoes. His nephew was sweet and wants to go to university. I met a girl with two boyfriends and they're twins. I saw a giant naked ginger man whole looked like he was wearing a carpet rather than just body hair. Bronn danced with me and almost got chucked over the veranda when Sandor came out of the bathroom and saw." Sansa was running out breath she was talking so fast and so excitedly. She had to gulp in air to continue. "He kissed me, we kissed each other... a lot... so much so that Brienne told us we couldn't... you know... F*U*C*K in the pool room and he carried me to his bike. I rode a motorcycle!"

She stopped for a moment and took up her teacup which Margaery had filled while she spoke.

"Sandor felt me up and I let him and he might have gone further... I might have let him go further. But I was a bit drunk and he... Well, he stopped." Sansa sipped her tea thoughtfully. "I might have let him... everything he did felt good." 

Margaery looked at her critically over the rim of her teacup. "So, what exactly are you holding out for?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The office that week seemed almost deserted.

Sansa saw neither her father nor her uncles. Mr Umber was travelling on behalf of a client to see if the listed property at Harrenhal was financially viable for restoration, considering all of the restrictions placed on it. Jeyne was visiting her father, leaving Sansa with a few junior accountants, a temp receptionist and an intern. She was essentially the boss. It was not as exciting as it sounded but Sansa was glad. Glad she did not have to see her father so soon, or her uncles who by now had been fully appraised of the 'kitchen incident'

She had time to think and to turn things over in her mind. To ponder her outrageous and downright rebellious actions.

She had not heard from her mother yet. Which was a surprise.

She had an ally in Arya. Which was also a surprise. Though she discovered through a series of texts that Arya was on lockdown at Winterfell as her jailers (a charming nickname for her parents) had found out that her boyfriend was in fact her 'manfriend' and lover. Jaqen was apparently one of Aryas instructors, a Braavosi and was nearly twice her age. The Starks had pulled her out of the fencing academy immediately upon learning of the scandal.

Sansa had inwardly winced. Sandor was sixteen years her senior too. It seemed the Stark girls had one thing in common at least.

Margaery was definitely on her side too. She had been friends with Margaery before but since she had been 'seeing' Sandor, Margaery had become a confidante and Sansas best friend. It might have had something to do with Margies predilection for trouble and intrigue or perhaps Sansa had suddenly become more relatable to an ordinary twenty-something lady in the city.

Something that Margaery had said at their last meeting had stuck with Sansa and she had thought the hardest about it.

"What exactly are you holding out for?"

Up until recently Sansa would have laughed off the question and begun to recite the many reasons given to her by her septa why sex before marriage was not only a sin before the gods, but also just a very bad idea.

But, Margaery had begun to bullet point reasons why it was a very good idea and why the Septas teachings were an outdated concept that most... even her Motherhouse school chums... had abandoned, or had found a very thinly veiled work around for.

Sansa had paled at some of the acts Margaery had advised her of, that kept her hymen intact but left both consenting parties satisfied. Sansa had doubts about that, considering some of the... uh... orifices being described in waaaayyy too much detail.

Sansa doubted she had a hymen at all. The hymen wasn't the be all and end all of virginity and purity.

She knew what sex was... she was almost twenty one for crying out loud, she knew stuff. She just had some trouble reconciling what she had heard about sex from her Septa and Motherhouse instructors and what she had heard from Every. Other. Source.

Septa Mordane had said the Maidens Gift was supposed to be given to her husband and only her husband... Sansa now wondered why her husbands corresponding 'gift' was not expected to be given to his wife and only his wife. Why was that? It seemed men were supposed to dally and spread their seed at every opportunity until they married... even after, if some of her parents friends relationships were anything to go by.

It was supposed to be a wifes duty; Mostly unpleasant, sometimes painful. Though it could be a joyful experience in some cases and granted the miracle of child birth, which was it's purpose after all. Margaery said it was good if it was done right... What Sandor had done was good, though it was far from coitus.

What happened if she got stuck with a dud husband? She wouldn't know any different, she supposed, having nothing to compare it to... THAT worked in the husbands favour. She would have no idea what to do, no expectations other than fear of pain and unpleasantness... in the hope of maybe being rewarded with a child someday... What a Crock!

Joffery had tried on multiple occasions to get her to give it up, stating that they were going to get married anyway, what was the big deal? She was glad now that she had not. She was glad that this sort of thing had to even occurred to her until now.

Sansa also had another shuddering thought. Her very first sexual experience could have been with Meryn Trant. THAT could have been how she lost her virginity. The choice was almost taken from her. AND she would have been considered ruined by the faith as well. There was no way that was right.

Sansa started to think that maybe pre-marital sex was not such a bad idea. Margaery compared it to test driving a car to see if the wheels spun correctly and in a manner that had one screaming in ecstasy at the climax.

She still had many reservations.

The first being emotional attachment. Sansa was sure that sex and love... or at least affection... could not be separated. She could not 'do' dispassionate sex, of that she was sure. No one night stands for her.

The second being pain. Sansa knew that discomfort and even pain went hand in hand with a girls first time. Losing ones virginity hurt, Margaery had confirmed that. Though it seemed that only the first few times were uncomfortable and one could still achieve completion if ones partner was considerate and patient. Margaery had said her first lover was not considerate nor patient and that her first time was both laughable and horrible all at once.

If Sansa were to ... go all the way... with Sandor... hmmm.

Sandor was not a patient man. Sandor was not particularly considerate either. He was also lacking in the gentle department. No, wait. That wasn't true. When they had first kissed, he had been very gentle, almost scared to touch her... hmmm.

Sandor was almost seven foot tall and he was a big unit besides. How exactly did that massive size translate to his... appendage? Sansa had felt his... bulge... for a lack of a better word and it seemed, even in Sansas very, very limited experience, to be significant. Would Sandors size exacerbate the problem? How was something that was a part of THAT man supposed to fit inside something that was a part of her? She was a little trepidatious to say the least.

This was not to say that she would become intimate with Sandor in that way. She just was not going to rule it out entirely now that she had thought about it in a more in-depth fashion. She would ponder it longer. She had hurdles that she needed to traverse before she became comfortable with the idea completely.

In saying that. Arya was two years her junior and had more experience than Sansa had. That was simply unacceptable.

This week, Sandor had not been silent and withdrawn. He had texted her a few times. First, to confirm that he had found a 'place' to eat. Sansa was sure it would be lovely. Second, to send a picture of his dogs gnawing on a giant tractor tyre in his yard. Sansa was full of praise for the 'boys' impressive jaw strength. The third was a belated apology for pulling a gun on her dad. Ned Stark had not seen the gun, which was blessing, Sansa didn't think she would be in Kings Landing if he had. She said it was alright and that it would be nice if he didn't shoot any of her relatives. The forth was to enquire if it was inappropriate to masturbate while thinking of her. Actually it wasn't an enquiry. He'd said he'd had a wank and was thinking of her tits. Sansa wasn't quite sure how to respond to that one. She just replied OK.

Friday arrived. Friday went by in a huge hurry. Friday night was upon Sansa and it was shaping up to be an unpleasant evening if the weather was anything to go by. The heavens had opened and what was going on outside, was nothing less than a deluge.

Sansa was not sure how that would effect Sandors preferred mode of transport.

She was also uncertain as to how she should attire herself.

She hoped that Sandor was not offended when she texted him to ask what would be acceptable?

She still wasn't sure if he was offended when she got his one word response: *Dress.*

She didn't want to overdress nor did she want to look like she had gone to absolutely no effort. She decided on a long sleeved, dove grey wrap dress. It was pretty but not flashy. It was modest but still showed a good amount of cleavage, considering that Sandor seemed to enjoys looking in that direction. It was short, but not obscenely so and it hugged her figure nicely. If she were to submit to a motorcycle ride in the rain, she had a long coat and she could wear the high-heeled ankle boots that she had never been able to wear around Joffery because they made her too tall. She wore her hair down in anticipation of the dreaded helmet.

She was ready and waiting just like the previous week, at 6.59PM. At 7.01 there was a heavy handed, shuddering knock at her door.

Sansas heart still pattered quickly at the idea that Sandor was on the other side of her door. She rushed to open it, almost yanking it from it's hinges in her haste.

Recently, Sansa Stark had received a great may shocks to her system. She had seen things that she could never unsee. It had made her less brittle, less fragile. She could take it.

This shock was not like those shocks. Nothing prepared her for the unbelievable sight of Sandor Clegane in a suit.

If it were not for the admittedly horrendous facial scarring, one could be forgiven for thinking that the towering man standing in the corridor outside of her apartment was some other distinguished gentleman of no small means. Sansa was not an expert on mens fashion but she recognised a bespoke, impeccably tailored single-breasted suit when she saw one.

Sansa leaned out into the hallway and looked left and right just to be sure that there was not some grievous error.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Sandor grumbled, glaring down at her.

He was wearing a TIE!

She gaped back up at him with wide cornflower blue eyes.

Sandor humfphed in exasperation and maybe a little bit of embarrassment.

"I got you these."

He shoved a very pretty bouquet of small sunflowers under her nose.

Sansa gasped. He got her flowers? He got her favourite flowers? He was wearing a tie?

"Little Bird?" Sandor sounded worried now. "Did I make a mistake?"

Sansa scanned him from head to toe. From his long dark hair, tied tidily back from his face, passed the charcoal pinstriped suit and subtle slate grey tie all the way down and she smiled when she got to the bottom.

There HE was. He was wearing his black motorcycle boots. They were unobtrusive, hidden under his well cut trousers and she was happy that he had not abandoned who he was completely.

She looked back up into his eyes and smiled brightly. 

"You look very handsome." She said shyly. "You didn't have to do this?"

He just gave negligent shrug.

"Brienne had a go at polishing a turd... didn't turn out too bad, I guess." His cheek twitched. "You need to put those in water or something." He grunted and nodded his head at Sansas sunflowers.

"Oh... yes." She shook her head in an effort to clear it and took her flowers back inside to find the appropriate vessel for them. She had a lovely blue glass vase that they would look sublime in. She quickly found what she needed and arranged the flowers to her satisfaction. She left them on the counter for now and would think of the perfect spot to showcase them later. 

She turned back to Sandor with a still somewhat bemused smile. He was giving her form a thorough investigation with his eyes.

"You look..."

Sansa wondered if he would ever finish that sentence. This time, she took it as a compliment.

Her smile was radiant.

"Shall we then?" She said softly, holding out her hand to him.

Sandor stared at her hand for a long time. He looked up at her eyes and at her smiling face and stretched his out to take it.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"It's raining pretty hard, shall we take my car?" Sansa asked softly on the elevator ride down from her apartment.

"I've seen your car, Little bird... it's a matchbox. I've got it covered." He grunted back. He cast a sidelong glance at her. "Did you think I'd take you on my bike in this? I'm not that much of a wanker." He chuckled to himself . "Well I am, but I've borrowed Tors car this time and it's not even a white panel van with 'Free Candy' written on the side either."

Sansa smiled widely up at him.

"Has he been naked in it?"

"Yes." Sandor growled.

Sansa started to giggle and then stopped when she considered the implications of that. Ew.

The elevator doors swished open and the pair stepped out into the lobby. Sansa pulled her long coat on and buttoned it up, ready to face the wrath of nature and when she looked out of the glass panels at the car parked right beside the door, she wanted to pull out her cell and take a picture. Jon would be sooo jealous of her. Sansa recognised this type of car, Jon'd had posters on his wall when they were growing up of this car.

"That's a 1968 Dodge Charger." She said gleefully. "My brothers would die right now."

Sandor was looking at her with surprise.

"You know cars?"

"No. I know this car." She said looking it over. It was handsome, shiny bronze with a matt black stripe running the length of it, from bonnet to bumper. It wasn't to her taste, but she could appreciate it for what it was. "My brother Jon, the policeman, has seen every movie that has a Charger in it, it's his favourite car. This is like the one from Bullitt."

"Favourite car or not... It's still had Tormunds naked arse all over it." He shrugged, pushing open the lobby door.

Sansa must have been getting used to his crass remarks, that one didn't even make her wrinkle her nose. She watched him walk around the vehicle and fold himself into the drivers seat. She shrugged and let herself into the car, sinking into the low deep seat.

"Probably his cock and balls too..."

Sansa wrinkled her nose.

Sandor started the car with a twitch in his cheek that made Sansa smile... He was teasing her.

They drove in silence and Sansa smoothed her dress across her lap, Sandor watched covertly from the drivers seat. Not very covertly, obviously, seeing as she was aware of every time his eyes strayed from the windscreen to her. She decided to watch him in return and see how long it took for him to realise. It wasn't long.

He glanced at her face and did a quick double take when he saw her eyes on him. She smiled brightly and he looked away, his cheek twitching wildly. And if it was lighter, she was sure his cheeks would be stained pink as well.

Sansa gasped when he pulled the car up to the curb outside of "The Throne Room'. The restaurant was sophisticated with a simple, elegant aestheic. It was also a three Micheline star establishment that was wildly expensive and ridiculously exclusive.

He didn't hesitate, he stepped out of the car and tossed the startled valet the car keys. Her door was opened swiftly and he handed her onto the awning covered sidewalk.

He walked up to the restaurant door like he owned the place. Sansa felt like she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone when he opened the door for her and stepped aside. She walked into the foyer in a daze as he walked at her side, his large warm hand directing her from the small of her back.

The Maitre'd looked up from his weighty reservation book with a dignified air that abandoned him completely as he beheld who was coming towards him, he broke out in a sweat and gulped.

Sandor stopped and loomed over the poor man who was shorter than Sansa, trussed up in a Tuxedo and wore pencil thin mustache.

"Clegane." He growled lowly, his stormy eyes boring into the little guy.

"O-of course, S-sir." The much smaller man stammered. "Your t-table is ready, p-please follow me"

The man eased out from behind his little lectern and lead them into the dining room with his back stiff. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable with the monster Hound and his auburn haired beauty stalking along behind him.

Sansa wondered how exactly Sandor managed to get a reservation at this particular restaurant with less than a weeks notice. Her father had been told once that one needed to book at least a month in advance to garner a table here and she knew that you had to be the 'right type' of clientele.

She felt every single set of eyes in the dining room following their progress to an intimate table for two, complete with long tapers of beeswax candles and a lovely table center piece of snowy white gardenias.

Sandor held her chair. She looked up at him bemusedly wondering what exactly he'd done with the real Sandor Clegane... The one that didn't open her car door only a half an hour ago outside of her apartment. She sat and watched him seat himself, the maitre'd holding his chair for him.

The maitre'd bowed away from them, muttering about beverage service and the name of their waiter for the evening and an obsequious request to assist in anyway possible before he fled. with her coat over his arm.

Sansa was staring at Sandor who was in turn staring at the silverware on the table looking somewhat confused.

"Why do I need four forks?" He prodded at each fork in turn picking up the smallest. "What the fuck if this one for?"

Sansa grinned.

"It's an oyster fork... you can also use it for Escargot." She said quietly. "Then there's a salad, fish and dinner fork and the one above your plate is for dessert."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust and she smiled sheepishly and felt her cheeks colour.

"It's silly, I know." She lowered her eyes and fingered her soup spoon. "You didn't have to do this, Sandor..."

How absurd her life must seem to him... five forks for one person... three knives, two spoons, four glasses... it was all so excessive and pretentious.

She began to curl into herself in shame until she felt the tip of one of his rough fingers under her chin lifting her face to the candle light. He was staring at her intensely.

"I did." He spat angrily but in a low, discrete voice. "You're a fucking princess, you should be treated like one. You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, Little Bird, not for the likes of me. I should be grovelling at your feet not be sitting across from you."

The beverage waiter approached cautiously and offered the wine list, ignoring the tension at the table.

Sandor waved the selection away.

" '76 Blackmont Red," He grunted. "and the lady will have pomegranate juice."

The waiter backed away again as quickly as his feet would carry him.

Sansa blinked... How did he...?

He eyed her from across the table.

"You're not just gonna order rabbit food, are you?" he said finally. "If you're the type that orders fuck all then tries to take my food, I warn you, I'll stab you through the hand with my fork." He lifted his dinner fork. "This one."

Sansa raised an incredulous eyebrow at him and quirked her lips.

"I'm not jesting." He said, laying his fork down and frowning at her."Thou shalt not come between a hound and his food. The Smith said that.. or the Father, either way it's still true."

Sansas smile grew to full wattage when she saw his burned jaw twitch. "You'll forgive me for saying, Mr Clegane, but you don't strike me as the religious type."

He grinned back at her, surprising her yet again with the youthful glitter in his eyes.

"No, you're right.. Fuck 'em. Point still stands though. Don't touch my food."

The waiter approached just as Sansa started giggling. She stifled it quickly and listened carefully as the young lady described the specials in great flowery detail and thanked her politely after she had ordered. She thanked her again when a selection of breads was deposited on the table with an array of dips and spreads along with their drinks.

They talked quietly while they waited for their meal. Sandor was confused when their breads were cleared and a mint and cucumber sorbet amuse-bouche was placed before him. He snorted softly when Sansa explained that it was to cleanse his palette for the appetiser. He ate it happily enough, followed by his appertiser of a rare beef hors-d'oeuvres. He looked to her again when their plates were cleared yet again and a shot glass was placed before him. She explained that it was an aperitif to stimulate his appetite and it was chosen to compliment his entree. He didn't need to drink it.

He drank it. He drank hers too.

The evening was going swimmingly. He was trying so hard. He didn't swear at any of the wait staff, he was polite... well, as polite as he could be. He spoke quietly and listened attentively as she prattled on about her family, studies, work, friends... Sansa felt warmth spreading through her as the night progressed. He even smiled... real smiles. He teased her...

And then Sansa glanced up over Sandors shoulder as a large group entered the restaurant and her mood darkened slightly.

Unfortunately... they saw her too.

Sandor saw the direction of her gaze and began to turn as the first person approached their table.

"Sansa, you look marvelous"

Sansa slammed down her wall of good breeding and smiled unaffectedly.

"Good evening Mr Baratheon, How are you faring?" She replied sweetly, inside she was groaning at the unfairness of it all. "Did my father trounced you on the fairways the other day?"

"Indeed he did." Robert laughed hesitantly, as if uncertain of his welcome. "Sansa you truly look well. I came to see you but ... well. I can only offer you my heartfelt..." He glanced at Sandor in belated apology for interrupting their dinner and started. He looked between the two of them for a few beats. Sandor glared back.

"Sansa." Another voice greeted her coldly... One Sansa did not want to hear and accompanied by a face she did not want to see.

"Hello Joffery." She said shortly.

"Joffery?" Sandor grated, turning his glare to the artfully arranged young man.

Joffery sneered down at Sansa. "Recovered sufficiently, I see." He said curtly.

"Yes." Sansa replied, eyes on her plate.

"THIS is Joffery?" Sandor said. "The bastard who left you on the side of the road?"

Sansa nodded, eyes downcast.

"And, you are?" Joffery sneered, ignoring the look from his father.

"Sansa, you look lovely as always." Tyrion Lannister was suddenly at her side lifting her hand to his lips and smiling up at her.

"Hello Mr Lannister. Married life agrees with you." She said a little weakly, letting her courtesies flow on auto and feeling crowded as the rest of the Baratheon-Lannister party suddenly surrounded them.

Renly and Margaerys brother, Loras greeted her and offered their joint observations on her health. Cersei gave her a brief somewhat chilly smile that didn't reach her eyes... it barely reached her lips. Myrcella and Tommen smiled shyly at her and Jaime pulled her to her feet for a hug, which he committed to but she did not. She was so overwhelmed she had no idea that an exchange was still happening between her former fiance and her non-date.

Sandor abruptly rose from his chair in the hubbub and towered over Joffery Baratheon, crowding him with is awesome, weighty presence.

"Listen to me, you greasy twatted cunt." He rumbled threateningly, his raspy voice quieting everyone around him "Out of respect for Sansa, I won't snap your spine in front of her, but I've got no problem with dragging your arse outside to do it."

Sansa was rushing around the table to Sandors side in a moment. He hadn't touched Joffery... yet, but she recalled how quickly Bronn had left the ground. Joffery was the type to make Sandors life difficult if he was so much as sneezed on. She needed to defuse the situation and get Sandor out of there.

"Sandor, we need to go. Please." She pleaded, trying to bring his eyes to hers as he stared down at Joffery, whose mother was plucking at his sleeve to draw him away.

"Sandor..." She reached up and touched his cheek, forcibly turning his face to hers. His eyes took a moment to follow, staying firmly glued on his adversary. "Please."

She saw his jaw grind and his cheek jump, but he tersely nodded reaching for her hand. Sansa followed him out of the stunned group and away from their table. 

"Is THAT creature what's replaced ME?" Joffery snorted condescendingly from behind them, his voice loud and arrogant. "I knew the Starks were little more than trash, but really."

Sansa wrenched herself out of Sandors grasp and spun back. Her palm had connected with Jofferys face before she even knew she'd lifted it.

His head whipped sideways and when he looked back at her, agate eyes wide and a red hand print blooming on his cheek, Sansa pasted a contemptuous scowl on her lips.

"Sandors right... you're a cunt." She whispered roughly.

She turned away and saw Sandor watching. His arms crossed across his chest and a prideful smirk on his face.

"Good girl." He grunted gently, offering her his giant hand again.

She lowered her eyes and stifled a smile as she let him envelope her hand in his. He led her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking it's time to take it up a notch... whatdayathink?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Her hand stung a little but it had been totally worth it. She had only ever struck one other person before and that was Meryn Trant... and that had been for survival... and she kind of didn't remember it too well.

This was different. This felt good.

Joffery Barathon was a cunt!

He had insulted her, Sandor and the entire Stark family. Trash indeed. How dare he!

Joffery had in the past, referred to her family as northern weirdos who worshiped trees and ran naked through the forest with wolves. But Sansa had always held her ladylike tongue and had let him chuckle at her expense. It was all in good fun after all...

She kept glancing at Sandor as he drove them back to her apartment through the torrential rain. She knew for a fact that she had saved Jofferys life tonight. Sandor would have snapped him like a twig for whatever slight had been imparted while she could not hear. Joffery was not as hardy as Bronn was, if Sandor were to lift him by his throat, Sansa was certain Jofferys head would have popped right off. She wanted to giggle hysterically.

She'd said a swear. She'd said probably the worst swear. She'd said nothing worse than damn or some slight towards the seven (for which she would instantly repent). She had spelled out swears for fear of actually saying them, but had never uttered one herself. It felt decadent. It felt like freedom.

Sansa wondered if this was what was meant by having ones blood up. She felt almost euphoric.

"So, your ex is the Prime Ministers son." Sandor rasped suddenly, cutting through Sansas heady thoughts.

"Um... Yes." She murmured back, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her thighs self-consciously.

"Funny THAT's never come up before now." He muttered sourly.

"Does it matter?" She asked worriedly.

Sandor shrugged, staring fixedly out of the windscreen. The silence stretched again, Sansa began to nibble nervously on her lower lip, her thoughts turning from her little misadventure to what Sandor was now thinking.

"I called you a princess in the restaurant." Sandor said softly. "Are you an actual Princess?"

"No." Sansa replied quickly, then she paused for a long while. "... But I am a Lady." She whispered sheepishly.

Sandor looked across at her, his good eyebrow raised.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Sansa paused again straightening as best she could in the bucket seat of the muscle car.

"It means that I'm the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell..."

Sandors cheek began to twitch madly but he kept his silence for the rest of the journey to Sansas apartment. Sansa continued to nibble her lip.

As the grunty car pulled up to the glass doors of the parking entrance to Sansas building, Sandor cut the engine and they sat in silence for a little longer, Sansa heart sinking by every hushed second. Sansa finally sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt and alighted from the car with as much dignity as she could muster. She started when his large hand came over her shoulder and opened the glass panel door for her. It was funny, there were times when he stomped around like a heffalump and others he was as silent as a zephyr and seemed to glide above the ground on a cushion of air.

She looked up at him over her shoulder. "You don't need to..."

"I do." He interrupted her. "Brienne said I have to walk you to your door at the end of the night."

Ahhh. She thought sadly... he's doing his duty. She'd had cousins and uncles escort her to her door after family functions. Joffery had even walked her to her door on occasion and given her a perfunctory peck on the cheek as he had left her.

Sansa didn't want a peck on the cheek. Sansa wanted a kiss good night. She wanted to feel the press of his enormous body against hers. The exhilaration as he lifted her off the ground. The blissful rush as he enveloped her in his arms, grinding against her. Making heat pool in her loins, dizziness muddle her head and making all sense of decency and propriety flee from her rapturous body.

She wanted him.

How did one ask for such a thing? Did one ask? or did one demand... and take what they wanted? Margaery was not here to ask and Sansa did not know how to proceed.

Sandor seemed closed off. Was the news of her fathers title really so off-putting? Wasn't that kind of hypocritical? Her father was a Lord, yes, but Sandor had killed people... Which was worse?

Was he going to leave her?

She stood solemnly next to him on the ride up in the elevator. She watched her boots shuffling, weight transferring from one foot to the other.

The elevator dinged and they stepped out together. On the short walk to her apartment door Sandor hesitantly took hold of her hand. Sansas lips quirked up and she looked up at him.

He was looking straight ahead and his face was impossible to read... especially from this side, where the scars puckered and whorled, stripping away everything but their stark dreadfulness. She didn't mind them, she hadn't for a long time. She knew they felt warm and slick under her fingertips. She knew he could feel it when she touched him there, not the tactile sensation that one would be used to, not like he felt on his unscarred side, but more a pressure and a gentle warmth. The nerves were long dead but the tendons and muscles beneath the glossy, raw surface jumped and ticked as if they had a life of their own. It was one of the things she loved to see, when his cheeks twitched, she knew he was either trying not to smile or that he was getting tetchy about something. She was learning which was which now, but she liked both.

She liked him.

For all his brutish tendencies, course language, mood swings and extensive criminal history... she liked him... a lot.

He stopped in front of her door and looked down at her for a long moment. He reached for a lock of her hair and rubbed it carefully between his fingers, watching the fine burnished strands glint as they filtered through his course fingertips, as fine as gossamer.

He frowned, a thick line appearing on his brow as he let them fall back to her shoulder and he made to turn from her, as abrupt as ever. But she was ready for him this time, no walking away this time, Mister.

Her dainty fingers wrapped around the lapels of his suit jacket and because she could not move him, she hoisted herself up his body, her lips colliding with his. He paused for a second... Surprised? Shocked? Maybe he didn't want to kiss her back.

He was as rigid and immobile as a statue... but only for a second. His strong arms wrapped around her slight frame and pulled her into him and his lips began to move against hers.

Yes!

Her feet left the floor as he bought her up to his level and she knew he could have held her aloft all day long but Sansa saw no need for that. She entrapped his hips in the cradle of her thighs, her long legs hooking together behind him at the ankles and her arms crept tendril like around his neck. She felt one of his enormous hands move under her bottom, the other slithered up her back to clutch at her loose hair, tangling it in his fingers and bunching it in his fist.

Ask for what you want? or take it?

The remnants of her euphoria returned with a vengeance... her blood was up and she was a northern wolf. Did wolves ask? or did they hunt?

Their tongues clashed and warred inside her mouth and then his, she dragged her teeth across his bottom lip and moaned softly as he did the same.

They didn't have to go all the way tonight... her addled brain tried to say. They could go further than she had before... her befogged mind said absently.

She rotated her hips on pure instinct, grinding her sex against his growing bulge. She felt his groan as it vibrated through his chest and tingled against her breasts.

Sansa felt a jolt of something that felt a lot like what she imagined lightening would feel like shoot through her, causing her eyes to roll in her head and moisture to pool in her knickers.

What in the name of all seven gods was THAT?

She ground against him again and nearly cried out with the pleasure of it. Sandors mouth fused to hers stifled it and it sounded instead like a muffled grunt. It was a salacious sound... terribly unladylike. Sansa couldn't find it in herself to give a single fuck.

She felt one of Sandors hands leave her body and heard the distinct sound of the rattling of a door knob which would not give... and a frustrated groan followed.

Then she felt his arms wrap around her tightly. He reared back. There was a loud bang and the splintering sound of wood crumbling.

Sansa was aware of Sandor stumbling forwards... she knew they were moving somewhere... somewhere that was not the corridor. She was otherwise fully occupied with a through investigation of Sandor ear with her tongue, so the specifics were vague.

He was enticing her feet to the floor, which she was not satisfied with at all. That meant distance and any distance between them was unacceptable. Until she discovered that setting her feet on the ground meant that Sandor was able to relieve himself of his suit jacket and tie. What a marvelous idea. The man was a genius.

Her small nimble fingers joined the fray, attacking his buttons with a fevered zeal. Her dress loosened as Sandor yanked on the tie at her waist, the wrap dress falling open with ease, exposing her silky undergarments to his roiling eyes.

A long tortured groan escaped him as his gaze raked over her milky skin, scantily clad in virginal white lace as the dress slipped from her shoulders seemingly of its own volition and pooled on the floor at her feet.

Sansa made an appreciative noise of her own as she pulled his shirt from trousers and all but tore it from his body.

Oh! Oh My!

Sandor Clegane was... well, he was utterly perfect, wasn't he.

From his sculpted pectorals, down his laddered abdominals, to the V shaped dip of his hips into his trousers, his skin was sun browned and scattered with dark hair that spoke to Sansa like it was a treasure map. 'Start here' his chest hair said boldly 'and then go this way' it said as it trailed south, ending in a mysterious thin trail that arrowed downwards and disappeared into his pants below his navel. She was following that trail gods dammit.

She reached out an awed hand and carded her fingers through his chest hair, reveling in the coarseness of it over the uncommonly warm skin it covered.

Sandor made an odd whimpering sound at her touch and then she was enveloped in his arms again. The clarity of the moment was lost as his mouth found a spot on her neck, just below her ear, that made her insides melt.

Sansa ran her hands over the hard planes of his broad back, the dense muscles beneath his hot skin shifting and tensing under her fingers as he stooped lower still, dragging his lips lower; below her shoulder, over her clavicle... she gasped as the cup of her bra was tugged down and his tongue sought and found her turgid nipple. Her head fell back uselessly, lolling about on her neck as her feet once again left the floor.

She almost squealed as her back met something icily cold before she realised it was her marble floor and then she was lost to sensation again as Sandors mouth left one nipple and traversed her chest to the other, the first covered instead by his large calloused hand, which pulled and rolled the tight pink bud in a very distracting manner.

His mouth trailed lower, his beard scratching in a not at all unpleasant manner as he went. She squirmed as his tongue dipped into her navel... since when had that been an erogenous zone?

Sansa looked down her own body in complete incomprehension as Sandors fingers took hold of her knickers and eased them down her thighs as his lips pressed a flurry of hot kisses along her hip bone. There was something that should have sparked at her consciousness, something about nudity...? What was it again?

He muzzy head pondered it for a moment as Sandors hands pressed her thighs apart with an animalistic growl and then she squealed for true when his head dipped to her sex and he tasted her for the first time.

Holy Mother! Holy Gods! 

A whole string of expletives unleashed inside her head... she could voice nothing but moans and sighs as a large dexterous tongue lathed the folds and hidden crevasses of her most intimate part. 

Sansa had not touched herself more than a few times in her whole life. It was a messy affair that resulted in damp fingers and an unsatisfactory and shameful climax. She never understood what the fuss was about. Joffery had attempted to finger her once, he had fumbled around down there while rubbing himself against her and mumbling about her getting wet for him, though she didn't think she was any more damp than usual. She had found it okay, but nothing to write home about... She would NEVER write home about such a thing.

This though.... THIS! Sandor Cleganes face buried in her quim, his beard scouring her inner thighs and his mighty tongue drilling into her as she arched her back against her slowly warming floor with her fingers buried in his long hair, moaning out her ecstasy. This was something... this was everything!

Her insides began to coil in on themselves under his ministrations, she felt a fullness within her as he pushed one of his thick fingers into her heat and he latched onto her clit with his lips, sucking gently on the sensitive little nub. Everything in her tightened in a rapturous ball as her walls pulsed around the intrusion and her nerve endings sparked, tighter and tighter until it all seemed to explode outwards in an intense rush that left her crying out her completion and the fingernails of her right hand scrambling about on her tiles looking for purchase.

She had no time to fathom what had just happened. His lips were on hers again, tasting warm and musky. Her flavour, her essence... who knew?

And his body was over hers as well, her own body was as limp as a ragdoll as one of his forearms eased under her shoulders and his elbow rested on the floor. Where was his other arm?

"Sansa." His voice croaked and she drew her heavy lidded, dewy eyes to his. His were a raging tempest. "Look at me, little bird."

She blinked up at him, one of her hands came up to cushion his burned cheek and she smiled serenely.

And then....

Ow Ow Ow Ow Ow...

He was entering her. He was big. Too Big. Stretching her untried opening to excess.

Sansa bit back a cry, her even white teeth digging into her kiss plumped bottom lip... her face screwed up in discomfort and her eyes filled with tears.

Sandor whimpered softly. 

"Sorry... Sansa.. sorry." He breathed over and over, though he didn't stop until he was fully immersed inside of her.

Her sex burned and stung and she felt overstuffed, like she would burst her seams and spill all over her floor. It hurt. It hurt badly.

And yet, as she blinked away a tear, which teetered on her lashes and slid slowly down her cheek, and she looked back up into his face, into his eyes... She quieted.

He was staring down at her, the storm in his eyes had gentled and what remained was a mill pond of molten silver. 

The sting slowly eased as her interior muscles relaxed around him and she gazed up at him in wonder.

And then he moved and her whole world caught fire.

Slowly at first, he withdrew and then pressed back inside, the whole prodigious length of his powerful cock stroking her walls and igniting her from within all over again.

Their eyes remained locked as he dove into her tight heat again and again. The thrusts becoming more forceful and urgent with each pass. He dragged his eyes from hers for a moment, his gaze roaming down her body to where they were joined before zipping back up and lasering into her.

Sansa was transcendent. Her hips undulated beneath him as she matched his pace and vigour in an instinctual dance. 

The ball... The tight coil was forming again within her. This time she feared, when it exploded, there would be nothing left of her but a puddle on her floor. Yet she sought it... she wanted to be destroyed by Sandor Cleagne. She knew he would put her back together again in the aftermath. The pressure built quickly... Her entire body tensed, her back arched off the ground and her head tipped back and she howled out her release.

Sandor buried his face in her throat and murmured something indiscernible over and over again, his thrusting became erratic and untamed before he too tensed over her and he groaned her name. His body jerked as he came deep inside. He held himself over her on his heavily muscled arms for a moment and then he lowered himself onto her with a shudder, his breath billowing into her ear where his forehead rested beside her tousled head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this sort of thing is not my favourite to write...sorry about the slow update. I agonised...  
> As always, I can fix any errors.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

When conscious thought returned to Sansa Starks brain upon waking on Sunday morning she realised several things:

1\. She was naked.

She was almost naked. She retained a bra, for all the good it would do her shucked down below her breasts as it was and she retained her high heeled boots.

2\. She was on the floor.

She was on the cold, marble tile floor of the entrance hall of her apartment to be exact and it was less than comfortable.

3\. There was a body next to her.

There was a large, mostly naked man next to her, lying on his side. A vast, heavy forearm held her fast to the floor by the expedient action of draping it across her belly.

4\. She was sore.

From laying on a hard cold floor with absolutely no posture support. She believed she would find a few bruises about her person as a result. There was also a pulsing burn at the apex of her thighs.

5\. Her front door was open.

It was, in fact, swinging on its hinges. The wood around the lock on the door frame was splintered to dust and there was a large dent... from a giant boot ... next to the door handle. ANYONE could walk past and look in.

When one took in and extrapolated the available data, one could come to only one conclusion... Sansa Stark had lost her virginity three weeks out from her twenty first nameday on the floor of her entrance hall to a convicted felon... who was NOT her husband.

Well...!

That was not exactly the plan now was it.

No, it was not.

Sansa carefully stretched out her body and winced. She was stiff as a board from head to toe, every muscle and tendon had locked up and seized. The burn in her crotch was not so bad and she guessed it could be expected considering. Margaery said it would go away relatively quickly. It was not pleasant but neither was it awful. Actually, the dull throb was quite agreeable. It seemed like a misty echo to the feeling of Sandors... of Sandors... Sansa blushed furiously... penis... (her brain tittered at that) both filling and retreating from within her.

She flexed her pelvic floors and gasped and not just from the ache that accompanied the action. She was all sticky.

She sat bolt upright, ignoring the pained protests from her tender body and stared down at her auburn curls in disgust. It looked like a crime scene down there. The dried blood was not the most unwholesome looking thing either, though it was disturbing all on its own. There was a mingling of all sorts of fluids both smeared on her thighs and private parts but also in a small puddle beneath her on the pristine floor. She made a rather unusual balking sound.

Her sudden movement had dislodged Sandors arm and sent it thudding to the hard floor, which in turn caused a flurry of movements which lead to him standing before her, his eyes wild... and his trousers around his ankles. Sandor had also not managed to relieve himself of all of his clothing before engaging her.

As she looked up at him, his eyes darted everywhere at once, taking in the tableau that they had created. Broken door, askew mirror (don't remember that), hall table shunted about three feet from where it had been (don't remember that either), scattered clothes and finally Sansa herself, sitting on her floor with a blood stained and messy lap. His eyes drifted from her down his own body to his own blood stained appendage and he made a croaking sort of squawk and scrambled to pull up his pants.

Once he secured his trousers around his taut hips he stood up straight again, breathing hard and running his hands over his face as if trying to scrub something vile from his skin. His stormy eyes settled on Sansa again, his gaze wandering over her and as she blinked up at him.

"Fuck." He whispered under his breath.

He stooped slowly, bending at the knees and collected his shirt from the floor. He knelt down in front of her and gently draped his shirt around her shoulders, adjusting her bra cups as he went. He carefully encouraged her to put her arms into the cavernous sleeves and buttoned it up with soft solicitude.

Sansa was struck dumb as he sat back on his heels for a moment staring at her, his expansive hand running over his mouth and down over his bearded chin.

"Fuck!" he muttered again with a little more volume than before.

He gathered her into his arms suddenly and smothered her into his bare chest.

"I'm sorry, Little Bird. So sorry. I didn't... I couldn't... " His strained voice filtered down to her through the forest of his chest hair and hilly pectorals. She tried to look up at him but her face was truly buried in hot skin and body fur, his hand running through her hair in a soothing manner. She tried to speak, but he railroaded right over top of her.

"I said I wouldn't... I told your fucking father... FUCK!" He release her and was suddenly on his feet again. "I was supposed to treat you like a princess and I fucked you on the floor like an animal... I wasn't even gentle." He ran his hands over his eyes before dropping them to his sides his eyes wide and panicked. "I didn't use anything." He breathed.

Sansa scrambled to her knees as he grabbed his jacket from the floor and stormed from her apartment. She was stunned. Where did...?

He wasn't wearing a shirt.

She stared dumbly out into the corridor, through her broken door and saw a small pile of snowy white fabric sitting in the middle of the carpet... Was that her knickers?

She crawled over to her doorway and snuck a quick peek out into the corridor, ascertaining that there was no one about, she reached out and grabbed her knickers in her fist and retreated back inside, closing the door over as best she could with no latch and very little door frame. Mr Manderly would be displeased.

Sansa was a bit at a loss as to what to do with Sandors hasty departure, she sat with her back against the rickety door and hugged Sandors shirt to her.

This was not exactly how she pictured her first time being.

After her talk with Margaery, she had thought quite hard about what it would be like with Sandor. She had been right on only one score. It had hurt... at first.

Despite his one-sided protestation, Sandor had been gentle... much more than she would have given him credit for. He had been patient... in the sense that he had seen to her pleasure first. It may have been the high intensity situation, but she had never bought herself to completion with anywhere near as much explosive satisfaction. She had enjoyed it very much. And the second orgasm... well, that had rendered her unconscious.

The location was not ideal... she had pictured her bed or his bed (which she envisioned in her harebrained imagination to be a giant rustic wooden fourposter strewn with rose petals).

She had pictured her laying in his all encompassing arms afterwards, whispering disingenuous platitudes and saccharine endearments. Waking to soft kisses, breakfast in bed, cuddles and giggles... She had not envisioned him gapping it as soon as he woke, looking for all the world as if the seven hells had opened and every single one of its demons was chasing him.

She really was a moony wastrel, she sighed to herself.

She would have to go to the pharmacy... she had been completely unprepared for this encounter. No condoms, she wasn't on the pill... she had only just decided to open herself to the idea of sex, she hadn't thought it would actually happen yet. She should make an appointment with Dr Luwin as well.

And she should clean her floor... And herself.

Sansa hugged Sandors shirt about her even tighter and sniffed loudly.

What should she do about Sandor? Where had he gone? Why had he gone? Did he regret it? Would he see her again?

She didn't know what to do. She sniffed again, this time taking note of the scent coming from Sandors shirt. A curious combination of him and someone that he was not.

She sighed again and heaved herself off of the floor, stretched out her cramped muscles with a grimace and went in search of a cloth and some floor cleaner. She went about her morning as if nothing were awry. She mopped up her bodily fluids, straightened her mirror and moved her hall table back to its original position. She placed the vase of sunflowers that Sandor had given to her the night before on the table and arranged them so the best blooms were facing her.

She retreated to her shower, washing away the stickiness but also a lingering scent that she was reluctant to vanish. She emerged feeling refreshed though no less troubled and confused. She glanced up into her bathroom mirror and gasped.

She made an outraged sound and leaned in to get a closer look at the dark bruise, darkening further still, on her throat. He had marked her. The Dog!

True she had examined no few blemishes on her skin as she had showered but this one. She had heard this type of marking likened to a dog pissing on a tree. A claiming of sorts. Well, really!

She wrapped her towel more tightly around her in indignation and tucked the towel about her head more securely.

She picked up Sandors shirt and stamped out of her bathroom. She needed to get this damned thing drycleaned. She had stained it with blood and other unmentionables as she had sat on her floor.

She stopped short on the threshold of her living area and gaped at the trepidatious looking man standing by her kitchen counter.

His hair had come loose at some stage and it hung limply about his face. His suit jacket was wrinkled from its sojourn on her floor and yawned open over his bare chest. His pants were equally wrinkled. He held a logoed paper bag loosely in his hand and he watched her uncertainly as she stared back at him in return. The distance and silence stretched for an eternity.

"I... uh... I had to find a 24 hour pharmacy." He rasped uncomfortably after a too long wait. He extended the bag out to her.

She moved towards him hesitantly, curiosity moving her feet. She took the bag from him and peeked inside. He'd gotten her the morning after pill. She looked up at him, his eyes were on his feet.

"I asked about something to... uh... ease pain, but... but the lady said not to put anything up there." His voice broke and he cleared his throat roughly before continuing. "There's ibuprofen in there too."

He blew out his breath in rush and made for the door.

"Stop!" Sansa snapped irritably. "Stop right there!"

He froze mid step. His shoulders hunched and his head dropped forwards to his chest but he kept his back to her.

"Don't you dare move from that spot." She said, sailing past him into her kitchen, clutching her towel about her chest. She poured herself a glass of water from the filter, popped opened the blister pack to release her pill, tossed it into her mouth and drained her water. She took two ibuprofen, leaving the box and empty water glass on her island and she turned back to her sheepish paramour.

She stared at him levelly for a long moment, though he would not meet her eyes.

"You seem to be operating under the misapprehension that this..." She waved her hand between the two of them, her voice calm "... was something done to me rather than what is actually true. It was done WITH me."

She angled her head to try and meet his eyes but he turned his head away. He was acting like a scolded puppy rather than the grown and quite scary man that he was.

"I initiated this. I kissed you remember and while my intention was not to... well, not to..." She blushed and 'ahemed' softly "Well, I wasn't entirely against the idea."

"You said..." he started.

"Yes, well, I changed my mind." She said. "I believe that is a ladys prerogative."

She raised he hand and cupped his unscarred cheek, brushing her thumb over his defined cheek bone.

"Sandor." She whispered and he finally raised his eyes to hers. "It was good." She said with a soft placating smile. "You were good, though I don't appreciate this."

Her voice hardened a little and she pointed to the ugly bruise on her throat with a frown.

Sandor bent his head and pressed a kiss to the bruise his whiskers tickling her neck and causing a giggle.

He did not look particularly contrite when he raised his eyes again.

"You were my first." She whispered a little in awe of the big man.

"I'll be your only if I have anything to say about, Little Bird." He growled. "You're mine now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not proof. Sorry, bit busy.  
> Will fix later.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest, it's not the chapter you deserve considering the really long wait but I needed to get from one place to the other and filler was the only way I could.  
> Bear with me, I'm sure I'm going somewhere... probably.  
> As for the wait, I do apologise.

Chapter 20

The week that followed the somewhat unconventional deflowering of Sansa Stark was challenging, interesting, amusing, embarrassing... it was the sort of thing that was becoming Sansas new normal.

The first thing on the agenda to address was Sandor Clegane.

She didn't know what to call him, for he was most definitely not a 'boyfriend'. 'Lover' seemed overly presumptuous. 'Partner' seemed prosaic. 'Suitor' was ridiculous as she didn't think marriage was his end game. 'Sweetheart' was also quite inappropriate at least for the outsider looking in. She needed to ponder it some more and try and get her head around what 'being his' meant exactly.

'You're mine, now.' She would shiver unconsciously whenever she thought of that little phrase.

Apparently, allowing him to take her virginity meant that the flood gates had opened, in his mind at least.

That morning he had wanted her again. She had politely declined with the very reasonable excuse that she was quite sore. He had smoothly sidled his giant frame up to her and whispered that he would be gentle and he had begun to tell her in great mortifying detail exactly what he would do to her in a rasping, rumbly, profoundly intimate voice that sent little earthquakes up her spine, made her cheeks burn scarlet and made her insides melt into an undignified puddle.

Her conviction wavered but did not crumble. He had pouted but had left her be... 'for now' he had threatened with a smirk.

Seeing as he was not getting any, he was only partly dressed, needed to return Tormunds car and go home to bathe, feed his dogs and check in with his people, he had decided retreat was the best course of action for the time being. After a series of heated kisses and quite thorough and devastating gropes, Sandor had torn himself from her side, casting a guilty glare at her front door as he left.

In his defense, he had offered to fix it for her. She had told him not to worry about it.

Her conversation with Mr Manderly soon afterwards (when the sun had actually risen) was diplomatic and a complete fabrication; the reason behind her kicked in door very vague and unbelievable. Even so, by the afternoon her door was repaired and she sat at her dining table waiting for the inevitable.

Her father knocked at her newly repaired door at 2.12pm. Sansa sighed.

Her appointment with her doctor on Monday had been appalling.

She had informed Dr Luwin of her new status as a non-virgin and had asked about birth control in as business like a manner as was possible.

Dr Luwin, being a friend of her fathers, was aware of her current affiliation with one Sandor Clegane and insisted on a full examination including a full spectrum STI test, pregnancy test (she'd only had sex for the first time days ago. How was that helpful?)... she was pretty sure that he had muttered about pre-treating her for fleas as well which was really quite unnecessarily insulting to her new...'beau'? No, think a bit harder, Sansa.

He gave her the birth control shot and so many condoms that she was left wondering if people expected her to be off her back ever again.

She then reminded Dr Luwin of doctor/patient confidentiality and that she did not expect to have her father confronting her about anything at was discussed within the medical practice. She smiled sweetly at his affronted expression and carried on with her day.

Sandor was found leaning against his monster motorcycle outside of her apartment that evening.

Her heart began to beat disturbingly fast at the sight of him. Tall, strong and clad in his faded jeans, long sleeve tee shirt (sleeves shucked up over his ropey forearms) and his Westermen vest hugging his taut torso. He had strode to her car before she had even cut the engine and pulled her from the drivers seat, smothering her in his all encompassing embrace and suctioning himself to her lips. He had rasped and growled how he had been bereft without her presence... consumed by want and desire for her touch... that he wanted her... needed her... there was also something about her tight cunt but she didn't dwell on that bit. He had set her down and reached into her car for her handbag and noticed the boxes and boxes (... and boxes and boxes) of condoms littering her back seat and looked back at her with a raised eyebrow and a salacious smirk on his face.

Sansa was beginning to get used the feeling of her cheeks burning in mortification so she ignored it for now and raised her chin, placing a haughty look on her face and glaring down her nose at him, explained in a condescending tone that the injection would not take effect for seven days due to the progress of her cycle and that her physician had simply erred on the side of excess in supplying her with the appropriate interim protection.

Sandor had straightened to his full height and she found it much harder to look down her nose at him.

"Don't worry, little bird." His gravelly voice grated "We'll get through them."

Uuummmm...

He turned and reached into her back seat and grabbed a couple of the offending boxes and, holding her handbag and condoms in one hand, hoisted her over his shoulder and carted her into her building like a sack of potatoes. The trip up in the elevator was humiliating, Sansa tried to make polite conversation with Mrs Blackwood from the third floor whilst flung over Sandors shoulder. Mrs Blackwood, bless her, was trying very hard not to laugh. She was one of the few to not shy away from the giant biker and she bid them both good evening as she alighted on her floor.

He'd opened the door to her apartment (with her key... novel idea that) and once secured inside, he started to prove just how devastatingly accurate his assessment of his condom usage was going to be. Once again they did not make it to her bedroom and Sansa once again began to seriously consider rugs.

Sansa was unused to such vigorous physical activity and Tuesday was exceedingly painful for her. She had used muscles that she had no idea that she had let alone had used before. Sandor seemed under the impression that she was a pretzel or pipe cleaner or something equally bendy. She was not. Her sporting history was limited to a couple of games of pool (which she slayed at) and did not qualify her as a pretzel.

When he was waiting for her again on Wednesday evening after work, she told him unequivocally that he was allowed near absolutely none of her erogenous zones. He had leered rapaciously but had kept his hands to himself. Instead of frolicking about in her apartment, Sandor had asked if she would like to get dinner. At least one of his appetites would be sated, he'd grumbled.

She had changed into bum hugging jeans and a cute boob hugging tee shirt and he had picked up some Tyroshi takeout. He had taken her to his home... 

Home was a relative term, he lived above the garage of his workshop. As he pulled his bike into the yard, with Sansa tucked against his chest, they were immediately surrounded by three of the largest, blackest and most scarred dogs that Sansa had ever seen. The pictures did not do them justice. Stranger was the size of a miniature horse... a big miniature horse. She loved them instantly and after she had fed them (unobtrusively under the table, of course) the bulk of her meal, they loved her in return and stared at her with large dark eyes for the rest of the evening, Smith wagging what was left of his tail the whole time.

Without those giant, soft eyed dogs, Sandors 'home' would have been a bleak place. It had a small commercial kitchenette that looked like it had never been used, a wetroom with a loo, and a big open plan space that housed the desk for his work littered haphazardly with scraps of paper and bike parts... and empty beer bottles, a round Formica table with two old school vinyl and chrome dining chairs and a very large sturdy bed... and a pile of torn up old blankets that served as a bed for the dogs. There were no knick-knacks (unless you count bike parts), no photos (unless you count the wall calendar with the topless woman draped over a motorbike next to his desk), no house plants, no throw rugs, cushions... no actual colour. It was grey and utilitarian. It was even lit by unflattering, commercial florescent lights.

She noted though, that the bed was tidily made... with clean sheets (he was ever hopeful) and he had a plugin fragrance defuser plugged in somewhere that valiantly tried to cover the scent of motor oil and antifreeze with a soft breeze of lemongrass.

Sansa surreptitiously cast her eye around the space and thought how she could maybe brighten the place up a bit.

On Thursday, she showed up at his work after classes with a little car full of homey stuff. Sandor had scowled at her and told her to take it all away again.

... And then it was Friday.

Sansa was ready to slam her face into her desktop as she poured over the Ryswells accounts. She would need to talk to her father about this account. They needed to seriously cut costs or they would soon be destitute. Roderick Ryswell could deny his daughters nothing and Bethany and Barbrey Ryswell knew it all too well.

"Hey, sis."

Sansa looked up in surprise and then leaped to her feet to envelope her little sister in a delighted hug.

"My Goodness Arya, what are you doing here?" Sansa gushed as she air kissed her on both sides, much to Aryas apparent disgust. "I thought they had you on lock down."

"Mum's planning a surprise party for you." Arya informed her blandly and slouched down into Sansas guest chair once the hug and kiss portion of the visit was over. "She relocated us all into Dads townhouse last night. Dad'll be in here soon to tell you that we're having a family dinner tonight and it looks like we're here for the next two weeks at least. Rob won't be arriving 'til the night before the party. You got anything to eat?"

"I told them I didn't want a party." Sansa moaned as she fell back into her ergonomic desk chair and rifled around in her drawer, pulling out a packet of organic rice crackers and passing them to Arya, who sneered at them but opened them none the less.

"Riiiight, like mum wouldn't make a fuss for your twenty-first." Arya rolled her eyes and popped a cracker into her mouth and crunched loudly. "So, how's your deviant boyfriend? I'm sure he'll make the party fun."

"He's not my boyfriend, Arya." Sansa replied primly.

"Fuckbuddy?"

Sansa gave her sister a flat glare over her desk. "Our relationship is, as yet, undefined."

"But it IS a relationship... and you ARE having sex." Arya said, chewing on her rice cracker with an analytical look on her face. "Dad told mum about your door being kicked in... what was that about?"

Sansa blushed to the roots of her hair, the colours blending seamlessly together, though she didn't reply.

Arya snorted

"Whatever... as long as you're happy." She said, "Listen, Dad's house is too small to shelter the entire Winterfell household so I'm gonna stay with you, OK?"

She stood up, not waiting for a reply and tucked the rice cracker packet under her arm and wandered out of the office without another word, her munching could be heard as she traversed the hallway. Arya was almost feral, her manners were atrocious.

Sansa huffed, straightened her suit jacket (which was an adorable shade of powder blue) and bent her head over the Ryswell account again.

"Sansa."

She looked up as her father shut the door to her office and crossed his arms. He'd been sterner with her ever since the chilly episode in her kitchen.

"Yes, daddy?"

"I'm sure your sister has told you about diner tonight. I'll send the car at seven." He stated gruffly. "She also said that you offered her your apartment as a temporary residence, to alleviate the burden on the townhouse... that is appreciated."

Sansa just smiled up at her father and his stilted formality.

Ned Stark hesitated for a moment and then opened her door to leave.

"Daddy..." Sansa said standing from her desk and halting his awkward departure. He turned back to her, the look on his face inscrutable. "Ummm, I'm ahh... I'm only part way through the Ryswell account but you'll need to schedule a budgeting meeting with Lord Roderick, their expenditure is unsustainable and will need to be urgently addressed."

She held out the partially worked file and he took it from her hand tentatively. "I'll have the remainder on your desk by end of business on Monday."

Ned nodded and quietly left.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Dinner was as predictably strained as Sansa had imagined it would be.

Catelyn Stark held her tongue...Ned Stark held his tongue but both stewed inwardly, bound by the rules of polite society to keep their peace and make meaningless chit-chat instead of berating their eldest daughter for broken front doors and behaving like a harlot (Thanks, Mrs Blackwood).

Jon kept his eyes on his plate and Ygritte (whom Lady Stark deemed barely worthy of inclusion) kept trying to make meaningful eye contact with Sansa. Theon looked gleeful. Ayra no less so. Bran and Rickon were oblivious, content to prattle amongst themselves about the latest zombie based video game

Sansa had (politely) asked her mother what had prompted the visit to the capital. Catelyn had breezed that she had missed her husband and that the children (and Theon) should see 'where dad's been working'... and it was nice to have a holiday wasn't it? She did not make mention as to why the whole of the Winterfell household staff had needed to make the trip as well. Ayra had kept her face bland throughout the whole conversation.

On the drive back to her apartment, Arya kept up a steady dialogue on how transparent their mother was, how much of a tyrannical despot she was and waxed lyrical about her lost lover, the famous Jaqen.

Sansa, for her part, nodded and cooed in sympathy in all of the appropriate places. Until, that is, they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building and there sat Sandor on the back of his beastly chopper, his scars illuminated by the screen of his cell phone. He looked up and tucked the phone away as the little micra pulled in next to him and he almost smiled when he saw Sansa behind the wheel and then his face dropped into a scowl as he saw that she had a passenger.

"Are you kidding me?" Ayra muttered incredulously, her northern sky eyes wide. "Is that him? Seven Hells Sansa, what are you thinking?"

Sansa sent a snide smile at her sister before exiting the car and walking to her... companion? Oh dear, they were getting even worse.

She leaned in and kissed him softly on his scarred cheek in greeting.

"Who's that?" He growled, glaring at Arya over Sansas shoulder as she dawdled her way out of the car.

"This is my sister Arya," Sansa supplied brightly, standing to the side for introductions. "And Arya, this is Sandor."

The two looked each other up and down both equally unimpressed.

"You got all the good genes then." Sandor rumbled at Sansa, dismissing the younger girl.

Ayra cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.

"Wow, you're fugly _and_ a prick... good work, Sans." Arya responded sarcastically, stalking past them into the building muttering bad words as she went.

Sansa watched her go and then glared back at her 'paramour'?... getting closer... in exasperation.

"What?" He grunted. "I'm not convinced you're related, get her tested or something."

Sansa pursed her lips with disapproval and he put his large hands on her hips and drew her in closer.

"Come with me, little bird." He whispered roughly in her ear, sending tingles along the cords of her graceful neck and tripping along the tender vertebrae of her spine. "It's Friday night, I need you to protect me at The Keep tonight ... and I bet Boros that you could murder him on the tables."

He ghosted the tip of his nose along her pulse point and buried it in her hair, inhaling deeply as one of his plate sized hands strayed from her hip around to her bum, squeezing gently.

"Then we can go back to mine and fuck 'til Monday."

Sansa gathered her wits to the best of her ability under his sensory onslaught and quavered a soft reply.

"I can't."

"Why not?" he snapped, pulling back from her and glaring into her eyes.

"I can't leave my little sister here alone on her first night." Sansa replied, almost shocked that he would suggest such a thing. That was just plain rude and it was very poor hostessing.

Sandor stared down at her for a while longer before looking away in a huff.

"Bring her along." He grumbled. "... to The Keep, not to mine."

Sansa smiled softly at the reluctant concession.

"Not tonight." She said, taking his face in her hands and turning it back to her.

He growled, pulled his face away and let her go completely as he sat back on his bike. He flung his leg over the front of it and kicked it to life with a roar. He began to back slowly out of the parking space.

"Stop right there!" Sansa snapped, stomping her foot and making a grab for the closest handlebar. Really! He was like a petulant child when he didn't get his way! And she was getting rather tired of him walking (or rolling) away without a word.

He scowled at her but stopped.

"What is this?" She hissed angrily. "Am I your girlfriend? or am I a call girl? WHAT is THIS?" She flapped her hand agitatedly between the two of them.

Sandors eyes whipped up a storm as he glared back at her. He cut the engine, kicked down the stand on his bike and stood, towering over her.

"I already said. You're mine." He ground out.

"Your what?" Sansa cried, she felt the hot prickle of tears burning behind her eyes. "Your possession, that you can pick up and put down whenever you feel like it? You show up whenever you please and leave without a word... you get angry if I come to you..."

She drew herself up and took a step back from him, giving herself more space. Though, she didn't miss his hand jerk at his side, like he would reach for her. She lifted her chin.

"If all you want is a...'fuckbuddy'... you will need to look elsewhere, I'm afraid" She said coldly. "Please excuse me, I must see to my sister."

She made to turn from him but his giant paw whipped out and took hold of her arm. He immediately released her when she was back to facing him fully.

"You're my girl." He rasped, his stormy eyes boring into hers, his burned cheek twitching madly. "I don't want a fuckbuddy. I want my little bird."

He reached for her again but dropped his hand at his side again, balling it into fist and unclenching it slowly.

"I'm not... safe." He growled, piercing her with his gaze. "I don't want you to be where I'm not... The Keep... even my place. Those places are populated with evil cunts. My shop is only a street away from where that Trant bastard got you, it's why I was there in the first place. I can't protect you if I'm not there."

She blinked up at him. "And what about everything else?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm an evil cunt too, Sansa." he replied, lowering his eyes. "I've never seen anything as fine as you before. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing... I've only got one type of fork." He looked back up at her, his eyes soft and calm as a millpond. "I'm trying though."

Sansa sighed inwardly. His eyes were so expressive and when he looked at her like that, it melted her heart. He had big dark eyes, like a hound seeking approval from his mistress.

Sansa smiled and reached up to cup his cheek in her small, delicate hand.

"Tomorrow night." She whispered her compromise. "You can get me tomorrow. I'll see if Arya would like to come... and I'll murder Boros at the tables then...OK?"

His hands settled on her hips again and he urged her a step towards him.

"It's a date, little bird" He rumbled as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

He ended the kiss before it got out of hand and looked down at her.

"How long is the little creature with you then?" He asked gruffly after clearing his throat and calming his accelerated breathing.

Sansa giggled and cuffed him on the wrist.

"My _sister_ is with me for the next couple of weeks... until my nameday." Sansa informed him, smoothing her hand down the worn leather of his vest. "My mum is apparently organising a big surprise party over in Visenya's Hill at The Guildhall, so Arya tells me."

Sandor stared down at her for a long moment with his lips suddenly pressed hard together.

"Your nameday?" He growled lowly.

"Oh... yes. My nameday is Thursday after next." She faltered at the look on his face. "I'll be twenty one."

"Twenty one." He repeated absently, taking a lock of her hair in his thick fingers and rubbing them together. He stared at the sparkling strands as they slipped in between his fingers for a long while. He looked back up into her eyes and released her hair, letting it flutter in the cool evening breeze. "I best be moving on." he grunted. "Tomorrow night little bird... seven?"

She nodded and accepted another light kiss and then watched him straddle his chopper. She stepped back as he moved off and watched him slowly pull away.

"Sandor." She called, just before he was out of hearing range. The bike paused and he looked back. "If you're polite to my sister, I'll consider what we can do together 'til Monday."

His cheek twitched and he turned away, revving the engine on his bike.

She smiled and skipped into the building and all but floated up to her apartment. She had a date with her... significant other? Mercy, no!

Arya was sitting on the floor of the corridor, leaning her back against the door and playing with her phone.

"This needs another coat." She said absently, not looking up. She tapped her knuckles on the door above her head. "You can still see his stupid fat footprint."

"Thank you, Arya, I'll take that under advisement." Sansa replied sweetly. She dug her keys out of her handbag and retrieved her phone as it dinged with an incoming message.

*Been invited to Lollys Stokeworths tmrw. Plez tell me u have a beta offa 4 my Sat nite*

Sansa rolled her eyes. Margaery. Sansa then grinned to herself. For once, she did have a better offer.

*Beer, Pool & Bikers?*

* Done.Done.Done. Squeeeeee!*

Sansa tinkled out a soft laugh... that had to be the speediest reply she had ever had from Margaery Tyrell.

*Be @ my apt. before 7pm.*

*I'm gonna to wet myself. I need to go shopping*

"What's that about?" Arya said petulantly, hauling herself to her feet.

"It's Margaery." Sansa smiled. "Sandor asked me out to The Keep tomorrow night and Margie is coming." She looked at her sister as she tucked her phone away and unlocked the door. "Do you want to come?"

Aryas eyes flared with excitement before she dampened it down and shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh yeah. Why not."

Sansa stifled her laugh as she pushed into her apartment.

\---------------------*~~~~~~~~~*------------------------------

At 4pm the following day, there was an excited flurry of knocking at the apartment door. Arya slouched over to answer it only to be swept aside as soon as the door cracked open. Margaery Tyrell was a whirlwind of urgent activity, her arms overladen with bags from the most exclusive boutiques in the capital.

"What do I wear?" She squeaked as she dropped all of her burdens on the dining table and waved her hands over them wildly. Her eyes were bright and she was practically fizzing.

"Covered shoes." Sansa replied drily as she peeked into the closest bag. She pulled out the first garment that was folded nicely on the very top and shook it out... what there was of it. She looked at Margaery with a raised eyebrow. "Not this." she quipped.

"Sansa, really?" Margaery scoffed. "That's an option for underneath. These bags..." She fluttered her hands over the five bags closest to her.

Arya wandered over to the table and started nosing in the bags too.

"What's the point of getting dressed up? " She asked as if completely uninterested. Sansa wasn't fooled "It's not like they have standards or anything."

"Because, Arya." Margaery drawled with derision. "I have standards. I'm going to score a studly bit of rough to torment my grandmother with."

Arya snorted.

"Then maybe you should just wear that." Arya sneered and waved her hand at the wisp of sheer peach tulle still hanging from Sansas hand. "That says rich whore."

Sansa sighed... this was going to be a fun night. Maybe not one of her better ideas.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little longer than my normal chapters, but I saw no need to split it and a little bit is going on.  
> I'm glad some of you are still along for the ride. I was surprised to get one reader, to have thousands of hits is a little beyond me. Thank you all.  
> I'll try and think of a good enough ending for you, though planning isn't my style at all.

**Chapter 22**

Dr Pycelle would be furious. Mr Manderly too.

The parking lot of the White Harbour apartment complex was overflowing with howling barbarians and Sansa cringed as she considered the implications of what would result from this particular display, once it got back to her parents. Thankfully it would be something to deal with later as not a single resident uttered a peep... they all huddled in their respective apartments (probably in their closets or under their beds) and waited for the invading army to leave.

Arya was wide eyed in her all black ensemble of skin tight jeans and too small tee shirt with the sleeves hacked off and the name of a band that Sansa had never heard of before emblazoned on the front, looking every inch the poster child of angsty, rebel rich kid. Margaery seemed to still be sailing on her personal high and grinned as she looked at each of the large tattooed and hairy men... it might have been Sansas imagination, but a few of the ladies were given a once over as well. Margaery had opted for a bright yellow strapless sheath dress, that looked like a figure hugging tube and a pair of matching stilettos that Sansa had to wonder if stilts might have been more practical. They were awfully high and Sansa wasn't sure how Margaery was standing upright in them. Margaergy referred to them as 'hooker heels'. Very subtle Margie.

Sansa wore her little white daisy dress. Risky to wear white, she expected to find some type of unidentifiable and probably unsavoury stain on it somewhere later but she wanted Sandor to remember just how long her legs were and this tiny dress, paired with the low heels, gave the perfect eyeful of said limbs and accentuated her long slender curves.

Over the horrendous din of roaring motorcycle engines, some of which were being obnoxiously revved for effect, wolf whistles and howls could be heard that even Sandors dark possessive glare could not silence. He unfolded himself from his chopper and stomped over to the trio of young ladies of station, standing in the circle of golden light cast by the foyer doorway.

He gave Sansa a mocking little bow with a twitch of his cheek.

"Your honour guard, Lady Stark." He rasped in amusement.

"Actually, my mother is Lady Stark. I'm Lady Sansa." She replied impishly with a little curtsy.

He shrugged, wrapped his arms around her and picked her up by her bum cheeks. "Like I give a fuck."

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck as he glared down at the other two ladies in her party. "Pick a noble stead." He growled with a nod towards his hoard.

A couple of the Westermen scrambled from their bikes to offer up their rides as Sandor carried his lady over to his chopper. Sansa pursed her lips disapprovingly at the offered helmet and touched her perfectly curled auburn locks in concern. Sandor snarled and shook the helmet at her for emphasis. She sighed and tried to carefully maneuver it over her head, resenting Sandors slight smirk as he turned away to mount his black and chrome ride. Once settled he pulled her in front of him and nestled her against his broad chest and pulled out of the parking lot in a deafening rumble of mechanical thunder.

The convoy of bikes spread out behind them, not necessarily legally. Center lines and directional dividers were not just for show, you know. Though, they did pass a police car that made no move to stop them.

The trip out to The Keep was as marvelous as the first time she'd graced his bike. This time it may have been just that little bit better from the confines of his embrace rather than when she had been behind him, clutching at his massive body while trying to maintain the look of elegance and ladylike poise.

As the pulled into the parking area, Sansa looked for her sister and her best friend. Arya was clinging to Podrick Payne as if her life depended on it... it probably did, to be fair and it looked like Margaery had been claimed by muscular dark haired ruffian with a neck tattoo whose name Sansa did not recall. (She must try harder, it was abominably rude to forget names like that.)

Sandor helped her off his bike and picked her up in his arms... there were puddles... and walked her carefully to the veranda. He then immediately yanked her out of the way as soon as he set her down as the door crashed open and the Kettleblack twins came barreling out, spilling onto the muddy shingle and beating the tar out of each other. Maya Stone slunk out after them sighing deeply with a resigned look on her face. She leaned against one of the wooden veranda supports and picked at one of her nails as her boyfriends fought on the ground.

Sandor led Sansa inside as if nothing was happening and the rest of his entourage followed; either giving the tussling twins a wide berth or carefully stepping over them... a few stopped to shout encouragement or advice. One unhelpful fellow started landing a few kicks of his own to the fray.

Brienne turned from the bar as they entered and had a jug of wine and clean glass and a chilled bottle of Arbor Gold waiting when they reached her. Sansa smiled brightly at her and thanked her. Brienne snorted ungracefully and glared at Margaery and Arya who had just appeared at the bar as well.

"Goodness, what a lively establishment." Margaery giggled, pretending that she didn't notice dozens of sets of dangerous male eyes clamped on her. "May I have something low carb? This doesn't just happen by accident." She waved at her curvy figure and grinned at Brienne.

Brienne narrowed her piercing blue eyes at her and leaned on the bar, looming over the petite socialite.

"No." She growled darkly.

Margaery giggled again and waved her hand about. "No matter, I'll have the same as Sans then, just have to work extra hard at my next pump class, won't I." She eyed one of the men leaning against bar, flipped her hair over her shoulder and bit her glossy bottom lip suggestively.

Brienne gave Sandor a flat accusing glare and before looking down at Arya impatiently.

"Stout." Arya ordered shortly, watching a couple of Westermen stripping their pistols down at a table close by.

"Got ID?"

Arya breathed in deeply through her nose, nostrils flaring.

"Humpf." She grunted, digging her Esossi drivers licence out of her back pocket. Brienne made a big display of reading the licence carefully and held the card up near Aryas face to compare the picture, Arya fuming the whole time. Sansa covered her smile with her hand but couldn't stop her eyes from dancing in amusement.

Brienne handed back the licence, apparently satisfied and served Aryas drink.

"Why Esoss?" She grunted, nodding towards the licence being tucked away in Aryas back pocket.

"Studied fencing at Syrio Forels Academy in Braavos." Arya replied, picking up her beer and chugging it back, "I was in contention for the tourneys..."

Sansa was led away from the conversation by Sandor who had obviously gotten bored.

They were greeted by a few familiar faces as they trekked back to the pool room. Sansa endured yet another hateful scowl from the same woman as last time... What was her name again? Mandy? Randy? She had to ask Sandor peoples names again, she couldn't be caught short if she was to engage in conversation with anyone.

They ran into Bronn, looking as disreputable as always, as they passed through the doorway.

"Ah, I see we're graced with the presence of the Burning Bush yet again," He drawled, stepping out of Sandors reach with a cocky grin. "How is her ladyship?"

"I'm quite well, Mr Blackwater, thank you for enquiring" Sansa replied formally, but with a slight smile. "I hope you are also faring well in your endeavours."

"Don't worry your flaming follicles about my endeavours, little lady." He smirked.

"You might want to consider being more polite to me Mr Blackwater." Sansa said slyly "...if you would like me to put in a good word for you, that is."

Sansa sent him a little smirk of her own as Margaery Tyrell in all of her barely covered glory, breezed up to them.

Bronns keen eyes scanned her from head to toe in an instant and his mouth dropped open involuntarily before he slammed it shut again in an admirable display of self control.

"Oh, Hello you." Margie purred throatily. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Miss Tyrell." He greeted her, his voice dropping an octave. He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "Might I escort you to the tables?"

"Oh dear, sorry no, Balon has already claimed me for the duration, I'm afraid."

The large man with the neck tattoo joined them with a smug look on his face and a look of triumph in his dark eyes.

"Has he?" Bronn said darkly, his eyes becoming icy as he beheld his adversary for the fair ladys hand.

Sandor tugged on Sansas hand and led her away leaving the two men glaring at each other and the little lady looking gleeful between them.

"That girl's gonna cause a riot before the night is out." He grumbled, claiming a pool table and giving Sansa a light push towards the rack of pool cues.

"She does tend to cause a bit of a stir at social occasions." Sansa smiled and tried to find the same cue that she had used before.

"Did I tell you, little bird, how fucking sexy you look it that dress." Sandor was suddenly at her back, his hot breath in her ear along with his raspy whisper. "If it weren't for Brienne, I'd have you bent over that table right now." His warm palm settled itself on her tummy and swept downwards towards the hem of her dress.

"Hound. I see you've bought your little ginger bitch to fight your battles for you."

Well... That interfering voice was a tad unwelcome right now. It didn't feel like Sandor made a move to turn to the newcomer.

"I'd watch my mouth if I were you Blount, unless you wanna know what it feels like to have your face smashed through the back of your skull." Sandors growl rumbled though his chest and vibrated through Sansas back. She felt him kiss the top of her head softly before he wheeled on his uppity minion.

Sansa picked up the cue she wanted and turned to look at the infamous Boros Blount. Meh, he wasn't anything special. Only a little taller than Sansa. He was paunchy and nondescript. Brown hair, brown eyes and boringly scruffy. She could understand why people would have been disturbed by seeing him having sex in the pool room, there would have been an awful lot of jiggling.

Blount looked over Sansa and sniffed disdainfully.

"Heard you're a pool shark. We'll see." He looked up at Sandor. "Thousand crowns right?"

Sansa gasped. ONE THOUSAND crowns?!

"Yep." Sandor grunted and herded Sansa over to a stool as she carried her beer and pool cue dumbly ahead of him.

"You aren't seriously going to put a thousand crowns on the outcome of this game, are you?" She squawked at her _Madman_. (Yes, that one fit!)

He simply looked at her with a twitch in his cheek and sat himself on a barstool.

"Flip to break?" Blount called from the table. He had already racked the balls up and was waiting for her.

"Not with one of your coins." Sandor grunted. "Swann, flip a coin."

Margaery had swayed into the pool room with her new biker. Bronn trailed in behind them looking murderous.

Balon Swann dug around in his pockets for a minute and pulled out a silver stag.

"Call it, Red." He said, tossing the coin in the air.

"Tails, please." Sansa squeaked nervously, watching the coin fly up, teeter at the apex and then descend. She didn't want to lose any of Sandors money. Suddenly, sports didn't seem very fun anymore.

Swann slapped the coin onto the back of his hand after a deft catch and showed the room. Heads.. Gosh darn it!

"Awww... tough luck, Rusty." Blount sneered as he bent over the table and lined up the first shot.

Sansa turned to Sandor who was pouring himself a large glass of blood red wine.

"I don't think I can do this." She whispered desperately "I've only played two games ever..."

"You've played three games," Sandor corrected her "You were fall down pissed when you trounced Oakheart last time, won me fifty crowns then."

"I most certainly was not." Sanda cried, terribly affronted. 'Fall down pissed' indeed. How low brow. "I was a little tiddly, nothing more."

Sandor patted her cheek insultingly. "Hmmm... and how was it Illyn got hold of your shoes?"

She narrowed her eyes to slits and almost hissed at him.

"Hey, while we're young!" Blount shouted.

She whirled on him, her northern blood was now up.

"I didn't realise you were so eager to be humiliated, Mr Blount." Sansa snapped. "I apologise for my unforgivable neglect."

Sandor chuckled from behind her as she sailed to the table, checking to see the damage done while she had been distracted.

Oh Dear, he'd sunk three balls already.

Sansa concentrated her absolute hardest throughout the emotionally grueling game, which in hindsight was not long at all. She thought she had lost it when she had punted the white ball too hard and it rebounded up the table, striking the black, sending it sailing towards the corner pocket. She began to breathe again when it slotted itself in between Blounts last ball and the pocket causing a flurry noisy applause from the very large audience that had gathered around them. Sansa beamed and bowed like she had meant to do exactly that.

Blount glared at her and walked around the table a few times, bending to eye level once or twice to check his angles. He gulped and leaned over the table lining up his cue with the white ball. He drew back his arm and tapped the white. Sansa could see what he was trying to do, but he was slightly off. The white clicked the very edge of his ball, sending it out into the field, but overshot by the barest margin tapping the black as well, which dutifully rolled into the pocket.

The room erupted and Sansa was swept up by her man with a whoop. He lifted her up by her armpits, hoisting her over his head, thank goodness for high ceilings. He bought her back down and kissed her thoroughly.

"Gods, I love you, Little Bird." He growled. He kissed her again and set her down turning to Blount with his hand out, demanding wads of cash.

Sansa died.

Sansa died dead on the spot.

Margaery was suddenly in her face laughing brightly and taking her up in a cloying hug.

"I have no idea what's going on, but it's all very exciting." She gasped. "Oh, I need a wee... where is the ladies? Is there a ladies? Come along. It'll take them an age to settle accounts." Margie took a firm hold of a very bemused Sansas arm and dragged her from the pool room in a rush.

"Excuse me." Margie addressed someone... Gods knows who. "Is there a ladies room or shall I grab an empty jug and drop my knickers right here."

"There." Came the reply in Briennes voice. Sansa was dragged onwards. She was dragged somewhere that didn't smell very good.

"Actually not the worst bathroom I've ever been in." Margaery quipped, shuffling into a stall.

"He said he loved me." Sansa mumbled absently.

"Watsat? Oh, give me a moment Sans."

There was flushing sound and Margaery was out, washing her hands.

"You know, I'm not much of a beer fan, but that Arbor Gold is quite refreshing isn't it? Goes right through you though."

"He said he loved me." Sansa said again with a little more oomph behind it.

Margaery blinked her in incomprehension. "What? When?"

"Just now." Sansa waved her hand in the direction of the bar. "He said 'I love you'."

"So the context was, you just won him a thousand crowns." Margaery took both of Sansa hands and gave them a shake. "Let's not overstate things, we must look at this logically and we must not freak out."

Margaery let go of her hands and began to pace.

"You've been on two dates... that weren't dates apparently. You haven't even slept together..."

"Weeeeell..." Sansa scrunched up her face guiltily.

"What?! When?... WHAT!?" Margaery was in front of Sansa again, her face the picture of shocked incredulity.

"After the second date... Friday night... or Saturday morning..." Sansas whole body flared red. "and Monday evening..."

Margaery gave a hysterical sounding laugh

"Second date Sansa?... What happened to that whole after marriage malarkey... hmmm?"

Sansa stared that the cracked tile floor and drew a small picture in some water with the toe of her shoe... at least she hoped that was water.

"It was good wasn't it?" Margaery crowed. "I knew it! These deviants are sex gods. Hmm... which one shall I choose, Balon or Bronn...?"

"Back to my thing, Margaery Tyrell." Sansa stomped her foot impatiently. Now she really hoped that was water since it splashed on her ankle.

Margaery bought her focus back to Sansa.

"Well, firstly, you must consider the context in which he said it. Was it: I loooove you? or I luv ya? Was he focused on you or was it said absently, like an afterthought? Men can say stupid shit when they're excited." Margaery tapped the cheek in thought for a moment and was about to go on when the door of the ladies room swung open and Brienne stomped in.

She pointed at Margaery accusingly.

"Swann and Blackwater are killing each other, please sort out your man-whores." She snapped before swinging around to Sansa. "And someone has given your sister a handgun. Please ensure that she doesn't shoot anyone. I'm not your fucking babysitter."

She stomped back out of the washroom and the door slammed behind her.

Arya had a gun?

Margie chuckled. 

"Well then, I shall have to make a quick decision, shan't I. Balon is better looking but Bronn is more sexy... decisions, decisions." Margaery turned for the door, but stopped and looked back. "If he meant to say it, he'll say it again soon enough. If he meant to say it and you don't react... he'll want to know why. Wait for either of those conversations. Don't dwell on it for now" She smiled brightly. "Congratulations on getting boned, by the way."

She exited the bathroom with a flourish and a tinkling laugh.

Sansa stood there for a moment, that was surprisingly sensible advice... but then, Sansa imagined that Margaery'd had many men say that they loved her... Look at tonight, two men were already fighting over her. Oh right, Arya had a gun.

She came out of the bathroom and uttered an 'Oh' of surprise when she found someone blocking her path. Manda?

She was short, but healthily built, with long dark hair and dark malicious eyes. Her breasts were almost spilling out from her... well, it was a bra wasn't it, you couldn't call it a top with a straight face. Her jeans were so tight, she had a bit of a muffin top happening at her hips. She was indeed, a very curvy lass.

She looked Sansa up and down slowly.

"You think you're pretty hot shit don't you?" She sneered. "traipsing in here like you own the place cosying up to the boss and dressed like a cheap whore." 

Cheap whore? Pot, Kettle, Madam! This was a four hundred crown dress for goodness sake!

"As much as I would like to engage you at the moment ma'am," Sansa said coldly. "someone has armed my sister and I would like to prevent a potential homicide... please excuse me."

She pushed passed the odious woman and stepped quickly into the bar room. Arya was easy enough to spot and she seemed quite content with Podrick Payne standing behind her, showing her how to sight a shot... what was the fuss about? They weren't aiming at anyone. 

She walked over the the pair and got Aryas attention.

"Hey Sans, do you think Mum and Dad would let me take up target shooting?" She asked without moving her eyes from the dart board that she was aiming at.

"Probably." Sansa replied honestly. They let her do pretty much whatever she wanted, save sleeping with her instructor, "Brienne is worried you might shoot someone by accident, you should give the gun back now."

Podrick glanced over at the bar and bar owner, grimaced at Briennes dark expression and eased the gun from Aryas hand. 

"If you'd like, Miss Stark, I could take you to the range to fire off some rounds one day." He offered with a sweet smile.

Arya grinned maniacally. "Yesss!" She hissed through her teeth, causing Podrick to chuckle at her enthusiasm.

The door to the bar opened and several men walked in unobtrusively.

It took a moment or two for Sansa to realise that the roadhouse had suddenly become very quiet. She looked up in time to see dozens of Westermen men and women pull out all manner of weapons and aim them at the strange newcomers in the doorway. Even Pod gasped and pulled the gun in his hand up to find a mark.

The man at the forefront put his hands up to casually show he was unarmed and spoke to the room in a loud commanding voice.

"Sandor Clegane." He called, swiveling his head from one side to the other to scan every face in the crowd with his one good eye.

"Dondarrion." Sandors dark rasp replied from the doorway of the pool room.

The room was clear between them. Sansa looked from one man to the other fearfully. It looked like they were gearing up for pistols at high noon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Dragons to Crowns... I thought Dragons sounded a little cumbersome for contemporary currency but I wanted to keep with the aesthetic. Forgive my transgressions.  
> Also, thanks to those who have pointed out grammatical errors, same goes for this chapter. I will fix any you find.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Sansa Stark knew stuff. She might have lived a sheltered life in the north as the eldest daughter of a Northern lord but she was well educated and she was up to date with current affairs. She received updates from news websites on her phone... she was even up to date with 'Babywatch' as the Targaryen queen prepared to give birth to the heir to the Seven Kingdoms.

Just as she had known whom the Westermen were and just as she had been familiar with the name Clegane all those weeks ago when Jon had reluctantly handed her the photocopied mugshot of Sansas current... gentleman caller? (sigh and inner eye roll... Really, Sansa!), just as she'd known about the people currently surrounding her with weapons drawn and trained on the door of The Keep, she also knew who The Brotherhood were.

Beric Dondarrion had been in the news for his cooperation with the police in the Gregor Clegane case and for implementing a mentoring programme for ex cons in conjunction with probation services. He was toted as the great redeemed, one who had dragged himself from the criminal underworld to near saint-like heights of community service, though it was common knowledge that the Brotherhood were far, far, far from saints. He certainly looked the part of hardened criminal at the moment. He was about six foot tall with a slim lanky frame, clad in denim and leather as seasoned bikers seemed wont to be. He was older and scruffy looking with unkempt blonde hair and beard, an eye patch and a myriad of small scars and nicks out of his tanned, weathered face.

He eyeballed the younger and much larger Sandor Clegane across the room without a hint of trepidation. His carriage was that of a unbowed leader.

He had bought four others into The Keep with him and they had fanned out behind him, facing the room. A woman with wild red hair that seemed to lack any coherent direction and shrewd eyes, an older man with an odd combination of top knot and receding hairline who looked stumbling drunk but was trying to hide it, an Esossi man with an intense, serious expression and quick eyes that darted about at every slight movement and there was also a young gentleman...

The youngest man in The Brotherhoods group, a strapping young man with sparkling blue eyes and close cropped dark hair, looked around the room slowly, likely seeking threats to his leader but his eyes instead landed on Arya Stark and stayed there. He was looking at Sansas little sister in a way she did not like. Sansa discretely took hold of Ayras arm and eased her back a step or two until Arya was a little behind her.

"Beric." Brienne snapped sharply, breaking the tense silence. She made her way from behind the bar with a shot gun cradled in her hands. She stopped and glared down at the intruder. "The last time you came in here, my place ended up full of bullet holes and half my customers ended up in jail. I won't have any trouble in my place." She warned darkly.

Dondarrions lips twitched into a small smile as he glanced up at the tall, formidable woman.

"I assure you, Bri." He soothed her softly (he was actually quite well spoken for a crook). "I'm not here to cause any unrest. I just need a moment with Clegane."

"There had better be no trouble." She replied tersely, "I'll have no problem putting you down if there is."

"Understood." He nodded.

"What do you want, Dondarrion?" Sandor rumbled from across the room.

Beric looked around Brienne and held up an envelope for everyone to see... the edges torn and the folded letter inside poking from one end.

"Did you get this?" He asked, projecting across the room.

Sandor grimaced but nodded his assent.

Beric nodded as well. "This changes things, I think" He said stepping around Brienne. "I've never had a beef with you, Hound. I never had a beef with your father either. With The Mountain gone, I see no reason for us to continue squabbling amongst ourselves. The Crownlands are big enough for the both of us"

He came to a stop before the Hound and looked up at him. One could really appreciate the sheer size of Sandor Clegane when he dwarfed a man of six foot. Indeed, Beric Dondarrion looked like a child looking up at grown up from the back.

"So, this is a bid for a truce then?" Sandor rumbled.

"A bid for peace... if such a thing is possible and I think it is" Beric replied. "We haven't crossed paths for a spell anyway, not since the warehouse thing... might as well make it official."

Sandor grunted and glared down at his Brotherhood counterpart before walking passed him and making his way to the bar. He glanced at Sansa as he passed and his cheek twitched before he looked away. Sansas brow wrinkled as she tried to decipher what that twitch and look meant, was it good or bad?

Brienne and he seemed to have silent discussion with their eyes before she nodded and turned away and came back with two shot glasses and a bottle of quite good scotch. She poured and pushed the glasses towards him.

"Cummon then," Sandor rasped, not turning from the bar. "Are we drinking to this or not?"

Beric smiled and crossed the room to join Sandor at the bar, taking up his shot and downing it. Sandor did the same, clanking the glass down and taking it up again after Brienne quickly refilled them.

"Me and mine won't mess with your business," Sandor rasped, sinking his second shot and slapping the empty on the bar.

"And we'll keep out of your way." Beric said with a decisive nod.

The bar began to get noisy again as weapons were put away, they had been lowered earlier but now they were being tucked back into holsters and into the waistbands of jeans.

Sansa turned to her sister. "Stay with Pod." She said and began to make her way to the bar.

Arya grabbed her arm.

"What was all of that about? What was the envelope? Are we in the middle of a gang war?" Arya said, her eyes bright.

"I'll talk to Sandor and find out and I think the war is over."

Arya looked disappointed that there wouldn't be a shootout but stepped back over to Pod as Sansa made her way over to the bar.

She touched Sandors arm as she arrived at his side and he looked down at her, his eyes angry for no reason as far she she could tell. He seemed to be angry at her but she had no idea what she had done. Beric Dondarrion looked at her too and gave a faint smile as he looked her up and down.

"Now, here's a precious beauty who doesn't look like she belongs." He greeted amiably. "Blink twice if you need a rescuer, lass."

"You keep that eye of yours were it belongs wank-stain or I'll tear it out of you." Sandor snarled, insinuating himself between Sansa and the Leader of the Brotherhood, like a immovable blockade.

Rude. Sansa thought indignantly, and a little dangerous considering the very tenuous peace treaty that had just been toasted.

Sansa resolutely peeked around Sandor. "Thank you for your concern, Mr Dondarrion but I assure you, I am content where I am." Sansa smiled as she threaded her fingers through Sandors and leaned into his granite bicep as she took her place back at his side rather than behind his back.

Sandor did not look happy but kept her hand secured within the confines of his.

Dondarrion, to his credit, only smiled knowingly at Sandor, rather than react badly to his heated and possessive words.

"We won't intrude any longer, Clegane." He said, carefully removing his gaze from Sansa and looking back up at the Hound. "Are you going to go?" he asked seriously. Go?

"Aye, front and center." Sandor growled, accepting Berics nod of approval.

"I'll see you there, if not before." Beric made to turn but stopped and quickly glanced back at Sansa. "Miss, a pleasure." He said softly with an upward twitch of his lips, turning again and indicating for his entourage to follow, which they did without a word.

The dark haired young man was the last to leave. He seemed to tear his eyes from Arya with what looked like some difficulty and even cast her another quick look before he disappeared through the door.

The noise level in the bar rose to its normal din as the bikers all began to talk about recent events. Sandor was approached by one of his surlier looking men.

"Are you sure about this, Hound?" the man asked, "Can you trust Dondarrion to keep his word."

"The war with the Brotherhood was Gregors business, Burton. If he hadn't... gone after Ally, we wouldn't have been at war with them at all." Sandor grated, making sure more people heard him. "I won't hold it against them for protecting what's theirs."

He squeezed Sansas hand quite hard, she thought it was unconsciously, so she did not react. Burton shrugged uncertainly but wandered away none the less.

Sandor looked down at Sansa his eyes still swirling with ill temper.

"Can I use your office, Brienne?" He growled, not looking at the Barkeep.

"No fucking." She replied.

Sandor snorted in acknowledgement of the reproachful warning and led Sansa behind the bar and into a cramped, dark office.

He led her to Briennes chair and indicated that she sit as he leaned one of his hips against the desk.

He stared down at her once she was seated and seemed to be gnawing on the inside of his cheek. The storm in his eyes whirled and crashed and then slowly seemed to calm as he watched her in silence. She waited patiently for him to find his words.

"I didn't want them to know you were mine." He grated softly when his pupils finally settled into a serene pool of molten silver. "Dondarrions misses, Ally Dayne, was the one Gregor killed... I didn't want them to know... in case they tried to hurt you, to take you from me." He made an odd sound in the back of his throat and looked down at his crossed arms. "and then he looked at you and spoke soft-like to you... I couldn't help it."

Sansa nodded. That's why he was tetchy. He had given her a look that she hadn't understood... 'keep away'... and then she'd walked right up to him. They needed to work on their communication.

He reached into his vest a drew out his handgun, holding it out to her.

"I want you to learn how to use this." He rumbled.

"No" Sansa cried leaping to her feet and backing away from the weapon. What a horrid thing to suggest.

"Sansa," He snapped straightening to his full intimidating height. "I can't be with you all of the time and if anything were to happen to you, it would kill me."

He lay the gun on the desk and took hold of both of her hands in his, looking down into her eyes.

"Please..." He pleaded softly.

Sansa gazed up at him. His eyes were so expressive and she could see fear writ clearly in them, for her. She wrinkled her nose and eased her delicate fingers out from his grasp. She moved around him to the desk and carefully picked up his gun. It was heavier than she expected. It was cold and it made her skin crawl.

"I'll learn for you." She whispered reluctantly.

She heard his breath gush out behind her and he took hold if her shoulders, spinning her around to face him, his gun clattered to the desktop and he engulfed her in his arms and held her to his chest.

"Thank you, Little Bird." He breathed into her hair.

He tilted her face up with a fingertip under her chin and kissed her deeply.

The door to the office suddenly slammed open and Brienne appeared in the doorway, like an angry parent catching their kid making out, and the two of them jumped away from each other.

"I said no fucking." She snapped. "I don't want your fluids all over my invoices."

"We're not fucking." Sandor bellowed back. ""Gods damn it, Brienne."

"Keep at least a foot of space between you." Brienne yelled back. "You're stinking up my office with your pheromones."

She slammed the door again and Sansa burst into giggles.

Sandor huffed and chuckled, releasing his girl and tucking his gun back into its holster.

Sansa sat herself on the desk and watched him settle his vest back onto his large torso.

"What was in the envelope?" She asked carefully, not wanting to rile him but her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Sandor didn't react as she thought he would... no impatience or sudden anger. He just shrugged his shoulders and held out his hand for her to take, so he could lead her back into the bar.

"Gregors execution date's been set." He said offhandedly. "My brother will be dead in two weeks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented on "Gendrya". Let's see if I can shoehorn it in there.  
> See anything that needs correcting? Let me know. I will fix.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so... I wrote this and then my PC crashed before I could save it and I didn't have a back up. This is the rewrite and I am not as happy with it as I was the first draft. I also didn't really proof read it.
> 
> I might revisit it later but I haven't posted in a wee while and y'all deserve better than that. Be kind :)

Chapter 24

Sansas twenty-first name day was fast approaching. She saw her family at regular intervals for dinners and brunches and such and pretended that she didn't know what was being planned, though she dreaded the big to-do her mother was planning and blanched at her sisters gleeful descriptions of the aforementioned extravagant EVENTs preparations. She had gone out shopping for a new dress with Margaery who had in turn, regaled her with the story of her disappearance from The Keep that night and subsequent adventures since. She was now 'dating' (see also, sleeping with) Bronn Blackwater. Balon Swann had been thoroughly beaten by the smaller wily biker in a brawl outside of the bar while peace was being brokered within and Bronn had won the ladys hand in 'fair' (see also, not fair) combat.

Arya had also taken to haunting the offices of Tully, Stark and Umber, much to Sansas chagrin, like a black shrouded sulky little poltergeist. Sansa suggested she maybe find something else to do, maybe find a casual job to fill her time. Arya had snorted derisively and had proceeded to draw a very detailed and life like cock and balls on Sansas desk blotter. Arya could also be found draped over the furniture in the apartment. It was not a unusual to enter the apartment and see a pair of feet sticking up over the back of the sofa, the reason behind not treating the furniture with the proper respect it was due, still alluded Sansa. Sansas only respite from her sister was when she attended lectures.

Sansa tried to spend time with Sandor as much as she could get away with. She felt bad that he was being treated by her as somewhat of a dirty secret. Her parents were aware of him, they did not discuss him. No one did but Arya and even then, it was most likely not complimentary... right up until Pod and Sandor arrived at their apartment to take them to the firing range.

Sandor had sheepishly gifted Sansa with a gun and as far as guns went... it was rather pretty, it even came in a rather fetching, polished wooden box. As far as name day gifts went, it was completely inappropriate, though he insisted it wasn't for her name day. Arya had choked slightly when she had googled the weapon and discovered the price. Sansa had refused to participate in the snooping. It was abominably rude to discover the price of gifts and Arya should know better. The weapon was silver with pink, rose gold detail and a shiny onyx and abalone grip. Quite chic... for a gun.

Sansa first attempt at shooting was simply terrible. Sandor had to point out that she would see the target and have a much better chance of hitting it with her eyes open. She didn't hit the target a single time on the first day. Arya, it seemed, was a natural.

Sandor had become discretely affectionate but subdued. He had ceased all sexually suggestive activity for some reason. Sansas entire sexual experience thus far was confined to floor defloration and floor and couch contortions. Her sexual awakening had been enough to render her unconscious that much was true. Yes, it had hurt her but the follow through had been worth it.

The condom abundance spurred episode had been surprising and enjoyable but had in hindsight been uncomfortable due to her not being quite healed and not at all flexible. Sansa realised after some thought that she had yet to see Sandor naked, she had yet to get a look at his... assets. She had yet to explore him and that seemed wrong somehow. She wondered more than once if she had done something incorrectly during their encounters. Had he lost interest in her that way? He still murmured dirty suggestive things, still kissed her and let his hands wander over her...

For someone who seemed intent on getting in her pants and staying there, it was indeed quite worrying behavior. There was also no repeat of the 'I love you' he had uttered so carelessly after her triumphant pool game... so she had been forced to deduce that it was indeed simply a careless slip of the tongue in the vain of 'I luv ya', as Margy had suggested. It was an aberration and nothing more. It made her heart sink a little.

It was true that Sandor had a lot on his mind right now... the 'drinking to peace' thing was just the tip of the iceberg. He had begun regularly meeting with Beric Dondarrion. His brothers execution loomed large and, as calm as he seemed on the surface, one had to concede that unwholesome thoughts would be surging unbidden through his head. He was conducting his usual Westermen 'business' (Sansa didn't like to think too deeply on what that involved) as well as his legitimate business and he was teaching her how to use her new gun. He was swamped.

In an effort to be helpful, Sansa had sat herself at his desk on one occasion and organised his paperwork. She completed his invoicing and bill paying, updated his inventory and sorted his filing... all while trying to accommodate two over large and scarred black dogs, seeking to simultaneously fit under the desk at her feet and with a third trying to insinuate his massive head into her lap for an in depth pat time. She also amused herself by drawing brassieres on all of the topless ladies on his wall calendar with a sharpie. Sandor became tetchy after that because he couldn't 'find' anything, though he did seem amused by her artwork.

Sansa had asked him if he would attend her name day party as her date. He had declined not wanting to cause a scene on her special day, which his presence would most likely spur. She was sad but understanding. She even perked up when he suggested that he take her out the night before. It could not be after... His brothers execution cast a pall over that time... it cast a pall over everything now but what could one do.

Then came the incident. Sansa had innocently asked if he would like her to attend the execution with him. As much as the very idea of watching a man die, even knowing what an abhorrent man he was, made her skin crawl and a cold lump form low and heavy in her belly. Sansa reasoned that she should be there to support her... significant other? (not the time, Sansa... and no) to hold his hand and be shoulder to lean on, as he had been for her in her time of need.

Sandor Clegane had blinked at her in disbelief. His scarred cheek began to twitch wildly, his eyes began to swirl like a building hurricane and he had launched into an expletive laded tirade on how much of a stupid little bird that she was. Sansa had endured it, she shriveled under the vitriol that he was spewing at her, the men surrounding them in his workshop snickering behind their hands as he towered over her. She kept her back straight and her eyes on his face, twisted in rage as it was, until he ran out of breath. Then she turned and walked demurely from his yard, entered her little car and drove home. Arya had complained the moment the apartment door opened that there was no Rocky Road ice cream. Sansa had retreated quietly to her room, shut her door and collapsed onto her floor and had wept.

When she returned home from work the following day, it was to Sandor Clegane and her little sister sitting at the dining table with him teaching her to strip, clean and reassemble his gun as is nothing had happened. Sansa watched them for a moment, Sandor avoiding her gaze and Arya simply ignoring her presence, before she went into her room, quickly changed from her suit into jeans and a tee shirt. She slipped from her apartment and drove over to Rose Tower and the solace that Margaery Tyrell could provide her.

She had not heard from Sandor Clegane since.

While it was not unusual, in the past, for the two of them to go for days without contact, today was the day before her name day and he had said he would take her out. Sansa knew he would not come. She dressed with care in a pretty chiffon A-line, V-neck, tea length dress in a simple powder blue that she had bought to attend a wedding in... one of her mothers friends? She couldn't remember she had only worn it once and it had been wasted when the bride had not shown up. She had fastened a pair of icy white sandals to her feet, that had crisscrossed up her ankles in a quite becoming fashion. She curled her long auburn locks and applied enough makeup to make her appear flawless but not overdone and then she stood and watched her apartment door at 7pm on the dot.

At 8pm, she went to her room.

\----------------------- *~~~~~~~~~~~~~* -------------------------------

Arya had decided to grace Kings Landing with the sight of her in a dress. It was unprecedented. Sansa felt a tiny bit flattered that her little sister had made the effort at an event in her honour. The dress was black and very reminiscent of a 1980's Madonna music video... and she was wearing Chuck Taylors, but it was a dress.

Sansa had purchased a slinky leaf green halterneck that left her back entirely bare and clung to her all the way down to her mid thigh. She chose to pair it with the highest stilettos that she could possibly stand in... not quite Margaery Tyrell standards but pretty close. She pulled her hair up in an artfully messy bun and had constructed a 'face' that made her look sexy and catlike.

Margaery had floated into the apartment resplendent in gold lame, that appeared to be painted on... and they missed a significant portion of her. Catelyn Stark would swoon at the sight. Sansa thought that she was being daring.

"So," Margy said, tossing her clutch onto the kitchen counter and sliding into a stool. "Why do we insist on trying to maintain that this is a surprise party... why else would we all get dolled up and go to the Guild Hall?"

"We must leave our elders with the illusion that they can still surprise us." Sansa replied, adjusting the gel pad in her shoe and sliding it back on again. "It is all they have left."

Margy snorted. "I should have bought Bronn. Granny is in for a treat when I introduce him to her."

The mention of Bronn bought on thoughts of Sandor. Sansa bit back tears, not that either of the girls noticed.

"Are we all ready to look astonished?" Margy continued.

"Yup." Arya chimed in. "My dates meeting me there."

"You have a date?" Margy started with a look of disbelief on her face. "How?"

Arya sneered at her and pulled the long strap for her small studded leather bag over her head and across her body.

"Alright." Sansa sighed. "Let's get this over with then. Shall we?"

She tucked her cell into her clutch and snapped it shut.

"At least try to look like you're not miserable, Sans." Margaery chided gently. "It's your name day."

"It was my name day two days ago." Sansa said flatly. "No one mentioned it and my... Let's call him 'Arsehat', shall we? has ghosted me. I am only going tonight to get trashed and get heaps of useless, expensive gifts. I'm not in the mood"

She held up her hand to belay any responses though it seemed that none were forthcoming.

"I can play the dutiful, delightful and enchanted daughter. I've been doing it all of my life. What's one night?" She sighed tiredly. "Come on, lets go."

She picked up her gauzy wrap and led them from the apartment. She heard them whispering conspiratorially behind her as she stood in the elevator and scoffed inwardly... like she couldn't hear them.

"Has he not called her?"

"No, but she's not called him either."

"What happened?"

Silence... most likely a shrug.

The elevator dinged and they trooped out to be met by the Starks driver, Rodrik, standing stiffly by the town car.

They situated themselves in the back of the car, Sansa and Margaery elegantly with their ankles crossed to avoid knicker flash and Arya sprawled and tapping at her phone.

The drive was quiet until half way there, when Sansa straightened her spine and smiled brightly, ready to face anything and determined to have a good time with her friends and family.

The atmosphere in the car changed instantly, Margaery began to chatter about dresses and men. Arya smirked and inserted sarcastic remarks in between bouts of furious texting. Sansa giggled at both of them. It was her twenty first name day.

The car pulled up to the curb of the fancy frontage of the Guild Hall. Rodrik opened the door for the young ladies and murmured a discrete 'Happy name day, Miss Stark" as she passed him. She cast a brilliant smile at him and turned towards the entrance, stopping dead when she saw her little sister throw herself at ... at the young man from the Brotherhood entourage? When did that happen?

He was certainly a handsome lad, very brawny. He was wearing a stylish Hugo Boss black suit that he was plainly uncomfortable in, which meant that Arya had bought it for him. He was tidy and clean shaven and clearly over the moon at seeing Arya Stark. OK.

Sansa shook her head, a little dismayed as she had thought her sister had been seeing, platonically, Podrick Payne. Were this generation of high society ladies all going to be trawling the biker bars from now on, searching for eligible mates?

Sansa wasn't sure how she felt about that. She shrugged her shoulders and made her way up the stairs to the elaborate glass doors of the hall, held open by uniformed doormen and let out a startled gasp as she was yanked sideways and bought face to face with Jon.

"You can't go in there." He whispered urgently.

"What?" Sansa squeaked in surprise.

Ygritte came up to Jons side, looking lovely in a floaty sheer gown in pale pink though the effect was ruined by her tight expression.

"Whatever can you mean?" Sansa asked, confused.

"Cat's done something." Jon said, looking quite uncomfortable.

"OooKaaay...What has my mother done... exactly?"

At that moment Margaery came hurrying towards them.

"You would not believe it." She panted, her hand to her chest in horror.

"What?!" Sansas voice rose, becoming quite hysterical.

Margy took hold of both of her hands and turned Sansa towards her, looking quickly at Jon and then back again.

"Sansa. Every single one of the Frey boys is in there." Margaery said seriously. "I saw Jon Junior, the Manderly boys, Harry Hardyng, Ramsay Bolton..."

"She's invited every eligible bachelor under the age of thirty." Jon put in with a grimace.

"I swear Sansa, the only women here are either related to you or attached." Ygritte cringed.

"I mean, I knew Will was invited... but..." Margy murmured.

"Sansa... Joffery's here."

Sansa gasped and stared oped mouthed at Jon, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

"She didn't!"

Margaery nodded and bit her lip uncertainly.

Sansa felt ill. Sansa felt betrayed. She stared furiously at the plush carpet of the foyer trying to fight the tears stinging her eyes.

She vaguely heard the doors to the main hall open and close and she heard herself being addressed.

"Sansa, my darling." Petyr Baelishs voice was as oily as it ever was. "My goodness, don't you look all grown up."

Sansa fled.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

In her anger, Sansa had gone a block and a half before she had even realised it and she found herself in a very familiar and uncomfortable situation... Alone, on foot in the streets of Kings Landing... in a party dress. She stopped walking abruptly and looked around with trepidation. She was in a much more populated area this time at least, it wasn't the early hours of the morning and she had a working cell phone.

She pulled her phone out of her clutch and sat down on the front stoop of a large, dark terraced townhouse. She should just get an Uber, go home and bury herself in her couch with a gallon of fudge mint and repeat viewings of Alan Rickman as Colonel Brandon. A Grand Plan for a Saturday night.

She sniffled softly as her wallpaper lit up; A picture of her looking quite tipsy (but absolutely smashing) with Sandors unburned side in profile burying his nose in her hair, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and his eyes closed in apparent bliss. She had snapped it quite late in the night in between pool games. Sandor had drunk quite a bit and had mellowed into a snuggly teddy bear who hadn't wanted to let her go. He'd kept on murmuring how much he liked her hair and how good she'd smelled.

She sniffled again and unlocked her phone, pulling up Sandors cell number.

She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment before dialing and holding her breath in anticipation as she held the phone to her ear... it went straight to the automated voicemail, which he never checked... She disconnected the call before the beep sounded.

Sansa felt a hot tear slide slowly down her cheek and drip from her chin. She swiped the moist track away angrily. How could her mother do that? How could she turn Sansas name day into... whatever THAT was? Blind Date from HELL? The Bachelorette FROM HELL? How Dare She!

Sansa googled quickly and dialed the number that came up.

"What?" The impatient voice answered after couple of rings and it was very noisy in the background.

"Good evening, Brienne. So sorry to disturb you." Sansa fought to keep her voice even and polite. "Is Sandor in this evening?"

"Sansa?"

"Oh Yes, It's Sansa... his cell is turned off you see." Sansa replied, raising her voice slightly and blocking her other ear with her finger to compensate for the sound of someone starting a fight on the other end of the phone.

"He's not here tonight. Try the shop... Tormund! Put him down!" The line went dead.

Sansa sighed and dialed an Uber.

She waited. Huddled on a strangers front stoop. Her phone buzzed a few times but Sansa didn't bother to check who it was, she kept her head down to control her breathing and keep the sobs that threatened to bubble from her chest, at bay. As the Uber pulled up in front of her, the sky above Kings Landing began to spit on her... of course it did.

The Uber driver gave her a leer as she got in but made no comment, taking off in the direction of White Harbour apartments as directed. She didn't really want to be alone, it was supposed to be a great night. She stared morosely out the window as the streets slid by, slowly beginning to glitter wetly in the rain..

"Wait, can you please take me to Black Dog Customs, 781 Steel Street instead?" She asked urgently. The driver grinned a little lecherously, nodded and turned down a side street to change direction.

Sansa chewed furiously on her lip. This was a very bad idea. She didn't even know if he'd be home. What if he was home and didn't want to see her? What if he was home but wasn't... alone? She felt a little ill but kept silent in her corner of the back seat. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt on the verge of tears the whole way, her throat constricting and pressure building behind her eyes.

The Uber driver eventually slowed, checking the street numbers. He stopped at the closed gate and looked back at Sansa in the rear view mirror with a frown.

"You sure?" He asked, no sign of the previous leer in his face.

She smiled a little shakily and nodded, seeing the light from the small second floor window.

"You want me to wait?"

"No, thank you." She opened the car door and stepped out into a puddle.

The Uber driver grimaced but drove on leaving Sansa standing in the rain.

She took a deep steadying breath and approached the gate. Her heart dropped as she saw the thick chain and hefty padlock holding it closed. She pulled out her cell and saw a slew of texts and missed calls as the screen lit up. She was about to dismiss the lot of them until she saw one missed call from Sandor.

She tapped return call and held the phone to her ear. The phone was answered instantly.

"Sansa?" His voice sounded tight and extra raspy.

"Um, Hello." She looked up to the illuminated window, shielding her phone from the rain with a raised hand.

"I... ah... Saw you tried to call." He said. "How's the party?"

"May I come in?"

"What?"

His imposing silhouette appeared in the window.

"What the fuck?" The phone went dead and the silhouette disappeared.

He came hurrying out of the side door a moment later with the jingle of keys and a procession of eager dogs following him.

"Fucking Gods, Little Bird." He growled as he came to the gate and began wrestling with the chain and padlock while the dogs pressed their noses through the chain links and snuffled at her. "What are you thinking?"

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered a little in the chill rain as he wrenched open the gate and yanked her through. He pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around her and turned away to secure the gate again. She was immediately mobbed by dogs each seeking her attention.

"Get out of it, you mongrels." Sandor snapped, pushing Warrior away and sweeping Sansa up into his arms.

He muttered indistinctly as he marched inside but Sansa simply sighed and settled into the warm cradle of his arms.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at your bloody party? Stupid Bird." He groused under his breath as he bounded up the stairs to his loft. "Fucking Hells, you're freezing."

He set her carefully on her feet outside of the wet room and left her clutching his sodden tee shirt around her chest while he turned on hot water.

"Cummon then." He peeled the tee shirt off her and his eyes widened as he actually took in what she was wearing. The little green dress was now plastered to her body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. "Fucking Hells..." He murmured, eyes fixed on where her cold-hardened nipples poked at the wet fabric. He shook his head and closed his eyes. "Get warm, little bird. I'll find something dry for you to wear."

He gave her a gentle push into the now steaming wetroom and headed for the particle board cupboard where he kept his clothes... one might call it a closet but it was really just a big home made tool chest that happened to have a few clothes thrown in it. Sansa stripped off her tiny dress and knickers and left them in a saturated heap in the corner of the little room next her tall shoes as she stepped under the heavy stream of warm water. She pulled the elastic and pins from her hair and put them on the toilet seat.. she'd never showered with a toilet before... it was a novel experience.

She stayed in long enough to get feeling back in her toes and to rinse the hairspray from her locks before she cut the flow of water and looked around for a towel. Yeah, no towel. She looked down at her squidgy pile of little green dress with distaste. She remembered that there were linens in the beat up old locker outside the wetroom door. She cracked open the door and poked her head around the side and gasped softly.

Sandor had his back to her, he seemed to be deciding to whether to offer her a grey tee shirt or a black tee shirt as he held one in each hand and his head swiveled from one to the other in indecision. That wasn't what had enthralled her though... His back! He had removed his shirt for her outside and had neglected to replace it as yet, a white hand towel was draped over one shoulder. He'd obviously run it over himself quickly to dry off.

She had recently pondered that she had not seen Sandor naked. She had missed A LOT. She had known that he had tattoos. He had one on his upper left bicep that crept up over his shoulder, it was what was over his shoulder... His entire back was a work of art over a rugged, wide, muscular canvas. A collage of bikes, the open road, dogs and guns. It was beautiful and so detailed and she wanted to run her hands over it and inspect the little facets that made up the whole.

Before she'd known it, she had crossed the space between them and her dripping fingertips began to trace the centerline of the road design inked into his skin. He flinched back from the soft touch and spun around, looking down at her in surprise. Then he seemed to choke on his tongue.

"Sansa..."

His steely eyes traveled from the top of her soaking head, down passed her wide cornflower blue eyes, her plump glistening lips and down further still, over her slick, wet and very naked body, still flushed with warmth from her shower. His adams apple bobbed as he gulped. She watched a hundred expressions pass over his face in a moment, each warring with the next, but he remained frozen to the spot.

He wanted to reach for her. She knew it. She saved him the trouble.

She stepped closer to him, ran her smooth palm up his chest over yet another tiny tattoo over his heart and around to his nape, tangling her long fingers in his still damp hair and with gentle urging, bought his face down closer to hers. The touch of her lips against his was only a whisper, an infinitesimal swipe of skin on skin, she pulled back a little trying to discern if it was welcome or if she should back off and look for a towel.

It was welcome.

It was more than welcome. Sandor dropped the tee shirts on the floor and enveloped her in his beefy arms, picking her up off her feet and pressing his lips back to hers with vigor. His tongue sought entry to her mouth and she let him in, tasting the slightly sour tang of red wine that permeated his... and she was lost to sensory overload.

From the feel of his large rough hands under her naked bum to the friction of his furry chest rubbing against her satiny breasts, coaxing her nipples into pebbled points that had nothing to do with the weather, she wrapped herself around him taking in the sensual feeling of hot skin against hot skin. He took a few unsteady steps backwards and sat heavily on the edge of his bed and tore his lips from hers to attacked her throat and ears with a soft groan.

"I thought I'd lost you, little bird." He whispered roughly. "Tell me I didn't lose you."

His swirling eyes sought hers, pleading and turbulent.

She had no voice to answer him so she shook her head quickly and reclaimed his lips with the assertion of a Northern wolf to convince him he had lost nothing. He was her Man.

She pressed against his chest and urged him to lay back, unlinking her ankles from the small of his back and moving to straddle him on her knees. As she leaned over his prone and somewhat startled form she felt a heady rush of feminine power. She was in control of this giant man. And he was no pampered, rich boy; not a Manderly nor a Hardyng. Not a soft entitled snob; not a Frey nor an Umber. Not a cruel, hedonistic bully; not a Baratheon nor a Bolton. He was a Clegane. Her Clegane.

And he was at her mercy.

She savaged his mouth with hers and drew back. She would see this body of his and all he had hidden before now, she would strip him bare before her.

First, she would taste what she could already see; an expanse of sun darkened skin, peppered with dark hair, old scars and a tiny tattoo. His hands roamed up over her hips as she dipped and flicked her tongue across his clavicle and began to traverse the hills and hollows of his muscular chest. She stopped at one of his tight little nipples, looking quite cute... if the word could be used to describe any part of him. She remembered the feeling of his mouth on her breasts and used her experience to dole out the same feeling to him. He groaned as her hot mouth enclosed the firm brown nub. She ran her tongue across the bumpy surface and suckled on it. She quite liked the taste of his skin which was salty and sweet, she sampled the other nipple. Yes. This was good.

She moved across his large torso, stopping every now and then on her way southwards to elicit a whimper or moan from her prey. Until she found herself looking down at the thin and alluring treasure trail of dark hair that disappeared below his belt buckle and into the confines of his very tented faded jeans.

She placed a kiss on the little trail and slid off the side of the bed to stand and claw at his belt buckle. Sandor sat up a bit, supporting his weight on his elbows and watched her with heated eyes as she tugged open the buckle and popped open each button on his jeans one at a time. He lifted his hips to allow her to shimmy his jeans and pants down, over his thighs and down his calves. Dammit. He was still wearing his boots!

He gave a soft chuckle as she huffed and got on her knees to release his feet from the heavy boots so she could, in turn, wrangle his jeans and boxer briefs off. One boot hit the floor with a hollow thud followed by the other and then she pulled his socks jeans and pants off in one swift movement, letting them fall wherever they may.

She looked up at him, he'd sat all the way up to observe her struggles and was peering down at her with a glint in his dark eyes.

She ran her hands up his legs, slowly reveling in the firm muscles under her fingers tempered by the soft smattering of hair. She kept his gaze and she rose back up but stuttered to a stop when she had no choice but to behold his towering erection.

Well... she had said she had wanted to see all of him... and there he was.

She blinked a couple of times at his length and breadth, standing proud and poking him in his own belly. That monster had been inside her, she thought in awe. She was a little speechless.

Her eyes darted up to his and she lifted one of her hands and paused as if asking permission. Her courage waning just a little bit under his stare.

"Oh yes please, Little Bird." He murmured.

Her fingers slowly wrapped around him and she looked back down at... it. His penis... he called it his 'cock'.

As she ran her fingers along the weighty shaft, Sandor emitted a low growly sound deep in his chest and flopped back down onto his back. It was big and hard. Prodigious but so unbelievable silky to the touch.

She almost yelped when one of Sandors massive hands came out of nowhere and wrapped itself around hers, tightening her grip on his cock and he began to use her small hand to stroke him firmly. Sansa was mesmerised by the movement, it was almost sinuous. She watched as a tiny bead of moisture appeared at the tip of his cock and in a trance she leaned forwards and gathered it on her tongue. Sandor did yelp and bolted up quickly, looking down at her with a dazed expression.

"Not this time, little bird." He croaked, lifting her from the floor and drawing her onto the bed. "I should be on my knees for you, not the other way around."

She made a sound of protest but he leaned down to silence her with a kiss.

"You can suck me off another time, I promise." He muttered softly, capturing her lips again.

Sansa was transported as Sandor did something she had not thought him capable of. He began to make love to her. Slowly and gently, his hands and mouth worshiped her, every inch of her. He found a spot on the inside of her elbow that made her insides clench when he ran his tongue over it and when he moved down her body and lifted her thigh to drape it over his shoulder, his stormy eyes boring into hers as she followed him with a stupefied gaze, she knew she was truly lost to him.

He bought her to climax with his mouth and his surprisingly dexterous fingers and as she lay quivering in sated bliss, he was above her again kissing her deeply and pressing his velvety cock inside her with a low groan and her name on his breath.

His thrusts were long and deep at first but as his control slipped, he became more feral, more wild... until each hammered her into his mattress. Sansa came screaming his name, her eyes rolled back and her nails gouging his skin. He came staring at her in wonder... pleasure and wonder. He held himself over her for a long time after his body ceased to convulse in completion and he gently pushed her hair from her face with shaky hands.

"I love you, Sansa Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard.  
> Y'all need to be my Betas.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff... *gasp* ... drowning in fluff...

Chapter 26

This was how Sansa had imagined waking up after she had lost her virginity. Saccharine as it might seem, waking up tangled in blankets and within the all encompassing embrace of Sandor Clegane, was with a feeling of sated completion and blissful sighs and it was her ideal. Almost.

She opened her heavy lidded eyes to a trio of large dog heads lined up along the edge of the bed, with big hungry eyes and dribbly maws.

She carefully freed her fingers from within Sandors sleepy grasp and patted each dog in turn, causing tails (and half tails) to stand up and wag ferociously. She smiled at the gentle monsters and made to slide out from under Sandors massive arm to attend to the boys dietary needs, the poor dears were obviously faint with hunger. Her efforts were for naught however, as the lax arm draped around her waist suddenly tightened, dragging her back against a furry and muscular chest.

"No." Came a muzzy rumble from behind her... more a vibration than a word, that sent a sexy quiver along her spine. "My Little bird. Go find your own."

Sansa giggled as she realised that he was still fast asleep even though a tree trunk of a thigh came over her legs, effectively trapping her to the spot. His nose nestled deep into her hair with a deep inhale.

"Mine." He growled softly, settling once again into a dead weight.

Sansa huffed. This was very nice and all, but she now was feeling the need to use the facilities and beastly trio had decided that since attention had been paid, they were now entitled to drool with abandon on the sheets and that they may now war with each other over the most prime spot for staring at the slumbering humans.

She began to wriggle and squirm in an effort to free herself from Sandors tight embrace. She froze as her hips shifted and pressed against a long, hard ridge of flesh. She opened her eyes wide in surprise. That hadn't been there a moment ago. She tentatively rubbed her hip against it again.

She found herself suddenly flat on her back, her wrists secured above her head and the echo if her surprised squeal still hanging in the air.

Sandors face hovered inches from her own and his massive body pressed her into the mattress. He was very much wide awake.

"Blanket." He snapped sharply, his dark stormy eyes boring into hers. Sansa blinked.

The three dogs quickly scrambled away from the bed and sat in a neat row on their blanket pile, their eyes alert and their tails wagging enthusiastically.

His lips descended on her and she met them ardently, straining towards him against the hold he had on her wrists.

He stopped suddenly and pulled back from her looking slightly sheepish.

"I really want to fuck you right now Little Bird but I need to piss more."

Sansa giggled as he released her and rolled off the bed. She admired his tight buttocks as he walked unashamedly towards the wetroom and quirked an eyebrow at the tattoo on his toned left cheek.

"Besides, I probably taste like stale wine and kebabs... " he muttered as the door swung shut behind him. She thought that he also added 'and your sweet cunt' once the door was closed and she couldn't help but colour at that. She was getting used to his crass observations and comments, but not quite, especially when in reference to her and her bodily functions. She smiled softly to herself as she heard the concurrent activity of him both using the commode and brushing his teeth.

She glanced over at the dogs who were still sitting attentively on their blankets. They wagged their tails when she looked at them but stayed where they were.

Sandor suddenly barreled out of the wetroom and crossed the room quickly. He didn't seem to have lost any of his morning wood, which implied that he was still very much into the idea of engaging her, though she wondered about the logistics of attending to his bathroom needs with an erection.

"Wait." She called urgently and scrambled off the other side of the bed. "I need to go too."

He scowled and crawled up over the covers. "Piss in the bed... I don't care." He growled, as he continued his pursuit of her.

Sansa looked scandalised. She bought her hand to her chest and gasped like Southron Belle even though she was standing there in naught but her skin. How could he even suggest such a deplorable thing?

"Fine." He slumped inelegantly back onto the bed in defeat at her expression and sulked, "But I want to be buried in you within the next five minutes."

She stooped and retrieved the soft grey tee shirt from the floor where Sandor had dropped it the night before and pulled it over her head. It was ginormous on her, hanging like a cloak to her knees. She could have housed a family of five in this thing.

"You're a picture, Little Bird." Sandor rumbled, watching her keenly and tucking his sheets around him. "What the fuck are you doing with me?"

Sansa beamed at him, weaving her fingers together before her and lowering her eyes to the floor. She looked back up at him through her lashes and bit her lip with a shy little smile.

"Are you going to piss or not?" He growled.

She wrinkled her nose and poked her tongue out at him before scurrying off to the wetroom.

As she saw to her needs, she ruminated on her night and though she did not want to think about it, she needed to address her parents and the inevitable fallout for her not attending her own name day party. She knew her parents had tried to contact her. She had seen the dozen or so missed calls and the ignored texts on her cell phone last night. They were probably worried about her. Well, they should have thought about that before they hijacked her party (that she had never wanted) and populated it with ne'er-do-wells and perverts (Petyr Baelish might be her aunts fiancee, but he was still a noted perv.) and making it into a humiliating and, quite frankly insulting, farce.

And there was one other small thing which she really needed to rectify. Not just because his declaration needed to be answered out of politeness (it did, but that wasn't the point) but because she felt it too and she had not yet voiced it out loud. He had not demanded a response to his passionate 'I love you.' He seemed content to let it hang in the ether like he expected his affection to be one sided.

It was true that he was crude, short tempered, rough and petulant (he was also a self confessed criminal...) but that wasn't who he was. The Hound was his shield. He was deeper than that and she had seen it. He was protective, gentle, brave and strong and, first and foremost, he loved her. He was the type of man who had a gunshot scar on his shoulder and a sweet little cartoon dog tattooed on his arse (she giggled at her most recent discovery).

They needed to talk about how this would work long term... she wanted it to be long term. She wanted him. She loved him. Arsehat that he could be.

She moved towards the little mirror over his basin and her mouth fell open in horror.

Her hair!

Her makeup!

Oh My GODS!

She had gone to sleep with wet hair. She hadn't removed her makeup. Her carefully applied cats eyes were now lingering around her cheeks, her lipstick was also lingering around her cheeks and her hair was a bramble patch, sticking up horrifically in the back and puffing out at the sides like wings.

He... He had... Seen this! He had seen it! Arrrgghhh!

She looked frantically around the little, sparse room and found nothing but a bar of soap, his toothbrush and toothpaste. How did he live like this?

She saw her still damp green dress on the floor in the corner and grabbed at it. The silk dress was buggered anyway. She scrubbed at her face with the coarse, manly scented soap and warm water, leaving dark smears of mascara on the silky fabric and her face feeling like it had been peeled. She then attacked her hair with her fingers, combing through the knotted locks, wincing frequently and bringing tears to her eyes.

"Have you drowned, Little Bird?" Sandors voice came from the other side of the door. He didn't wait for a reply before he cracked the door open and peeked through the gap. After a quick glance, he threw the door open and strode in taking her in his arms. "Are you OK, Little Bird? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

She sniffled into his furry chest. "I'm hideous." She murmured weakly. Sansa Stark was a woman who prided herself on her put together appearance and right now, she looked like an unkempt transient. How could he stand to look at her?

He pulled back from her and looked down at her, his expression extremely puzzled.

"What are you blathering about?" he rasped gently. He used one of his hands to push her hair away from her face and the other to lead her to the loo. He put the seat down and sat, tugging her to stand in between his thighs before he bought his other hand up to cup her cheek. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen... especially wearing nothing but my shirt and looking thoroughly fucked."

She wrinkled her nose and he chuckled.

"You don't need all that fancy shit, you're sexy as fuck."

Well, obviously he was totally wrong but she smiled at him anyway and leaned down to kiss him.

"Even sexier when you had your lips around my cock."

She gave him a flat look and pulled away with a huff and he rumbled with laughter.

She had done 'that' late in the night. She'd had no idea what she was doing and it had made her jaw ache, but he had watched her so intensely that she almost reached her peak without him touching her. He'd not done as Margaery had described that one time and grabbed her head and forced himself down her throat to make her choke and retch. He'd just pulled her hair out of the way and watched, whispering encouragement and moaning in approval. She wouldn't mind trying it again.

Her smile spread again and she ran her fingers through his hair, away from his scars. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back in bliss at the feel of her fingernails gently scratching his scalp

"I didn't say it back." She said softly and he stilled.

"You don't have to." He replied, his eyes still closed but the frown line forming between them.

"I know I don't have to." She said, pulling on his hair a little to get him to open his stormy eyes... she had to wait for a moment but he eventually looked back at her. "But I'm going to, because I mean it, because it's true."

She cupped his weathered and scarred face between her small delicate hands and looked deep into his eyes, grey as a settling storm.

"I love you, Sandor Clegane."

His chest seemed to puff out and he looked very pleased with himself, his scarred cheek twitched.

"Stupid Bird." He murmured bashfully, allowing her to kiss him. 

And kiss him she did, slowly and sweetly... to begin with... it got out of hand quite quickly. Sandor was still naked, Sansa covered with a tee shirt and no knickers so it was no inconvenience to pull Sansa to straddle his thighs and sink down onto his cock with a moan. She had ridden him briefly last night... maybe really early this morning and she had enjoyed the feeling of control. She rocked against him now, drawing him in deep and withdrawing from him, clenching her pelvic floors.

"Fucking hells, Sansa. I shouldn't be fucking you on the shitter." He groaned. 

He gripped her bum tightly and stood up, urging her to wrap her thighs around him. He carried her back into the main room and plopped her down on the old formica table top, having deduced that the bed was a million miles away. He leaned over her, capturing her lips and refusing to relinquish them as he plowed into her with powerful drives of his hips. The table scraped across the floor an inch at a time with every thrust and he had to keep following it and dragging her back to him. If Sansa hadn't been overwhelmed with sensation, she might have found it funny but as it was she simply held into him for dear life and arched her body into him with everything she had. With one last mighty push Sandor, swore out his orgasm and with the hot rush and throbbing release inside of her, she fluttered to completion as well, leaving them both feeling a breathless and sweaty. 

They panted as they looked at each other. Sandor with absolute adoration and Sansa with wonder. She let her eyes wander over him, settling on the little tattoo in his chest, right over his heart. She ran her finger tip over it. It was old and buried in hair and no bigger than her fingernail.

"It's a ladybird." She whispered.

He looked down at his chest and her finger tracing the pretty little bug.

"Yep. For Elynore, my sister. The first one I got." He rasped backing away enough to withdraw from her carefully.

She met his eyes and hooked her ankles together behind his thighs to keep him with her.

"You never said you had a sister." She pressed gently.

He shrugged. "She's gone... a long time now."

"Will you tell me about her?"

"Someday I will... later though, Little Bird."

She pressed a kiss to the little tattoo and smiled up at him.

"Is this why you call me Little Bird?"

"No, I call you Little Bird, because Bronn said some bird was there to see me and you're little." He chuffed a laugh, untangling himself from between her thighs and handing her down from the table.

"Compared to you everyone is little." She grinned up at him cheekily.

"True, but everyone else I know is heavily armed." He grunted and looked around for some pants. His dogs were practically vibrating in the corner with the need for sustenance and a bathroom break.

"I'm armed now." She pointed out, standing a little taller.

"Yes, but you can't hit shit." He chuffed out another laugh and bent to pick up his jeans. She pouted, though that was very true. "I can call you something else if you want." 

"No." She said quickly and with a rueful smile "I like it."

He grinned back at her.

"I have to take care of these bloody dogs." He said. He twitched his finger at them and the three dogs scrambled from their blankets and thundered across the room and raced down the stairs. "You have a shower and relax for a while and I'll go to your place and find you some clothes and get breakfast 'cause I have fuck all food here, and then we can talk properly... yes?"

He came up and towered over her, pressing her close for a moment as she nodded gratefully against his chest. She couldn't very well swan about town in an oversized tee shirt and the talk was well overdue.

"My apartment key is in my clutch..." She looked around with a frown and found it sitting on the kitchenette counter, where it had been haphazardly tossed when he'd bought her in from the rain. She dug out the key and held it out to him. "I should get you a copy." She said shyly.

"I'd like that, Little Bird."

The dogs were beginning to get unruly downstairs by the sound of the growling and scrape and click of claws on concrete.

"Fucking Hells! I'm coming, you bastards." He shouted, before looking back to her with a smile "I'll be back."

He kissed her quickly and turned away... picking up his leather Westermen vest from the back of his desk chair as he passed it and slinging it on.

Sansa sighed and smiled dreamily as she pulled her cell from clutch and lit up the screen.

A smile had never slid so fast from her face and she had never gasped quite so loudly.

127 texts and missed calls. Her mother, father, Arya, Jon, Margaery... Robb? Everyone!

Her hand was covering her aghast mouth and her eyes were wide as she flicked through them one at a time, each one becoming more desperate and hysterical as she went.

_*You're late, Sweetheart*_

_*Arya's here... where are you?*_

_*Sansa, where are you??!?*_

_*Sansa, reply this instant*_

and so it went on... 127 times...

Oh Dear.

Her tear-pricked eyes jerked up at the sound of voices downstairs in the workshop and she immediately started to hyperventilate.

Footsteps.

Sandor emerged from the stairs, his face unreadable as his eyes met hers.

Following immediately behind him, was Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so, Sandors sister has no name in canon that I could find, but I've seen other writers use Elynore (or some variation). I can change it if someone feels proprietary.  
> There are only a couple of things that need to happen now I think and I should be done (I haven't figured out what they should be. If you have an idea, I'm open to suggestions. But don't freak out if I don't use them, it's not a slight).  
> Please remember that I my stuff is unbeta'd and if you see I've buggered up, let me know and I can fix it.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming...

Chapter 27

Sansa Stark Died.

She died dead, right there on the spot.

She had to have.

Her disembodied self looked down on the scene in abject humiliation while her corporeal form just stood there like an imbecilic statue.

Her mother was dressed in Chanel. Her father was in Armani.

Sandor Clegane was in dirty faded and torn jeans, sitting low on his hips with the top button undone and a belt hanging uselessly from the loops and a worn leather gang-patched vest and nothing else. His giant hairy chest looked especially imposing and he had very large, strong bare feet with long toes.

Sansa Stark was in a humongous soft and somewhat threadbare grey tee shirt... and nothing else. She was also aware that there was something, most likely Sandors ejaculate, slowly and inexorably trickling down her inner thighs.

The look on Catelyn Starks face was comparable with a frigid winter front at The Wall... if she clenched her teeth any tighter, they would ground to dust. Her fathers face was impassive, much like Sandors was. How did they do that? Sansa marveled inwardly.

Catelyn paused at the top of the stairs and slowly surveyed the room with a mingling expression of disgust and disapproval, taking in the state of the disheveled bed and the state of her disheveled daughter with equal measures of abhorrence. She finished her 'Terminator' like scan of the sparse room and her vivid blue eyes zeroed in on Sansa with deadly accuracy. If looks could kill, indeed.

"Good Morning, Sansa." She said coldly.

Sansa was thankful that her mouth had not been hanging open at the time that she had been struck immobile. She was quite confidant that while she may have looked somewhat surprised, she also looked quite composed under the circumstances. She just hoped that her voice would not fail her.

"Good Morning, Mother." She replied coolly. (Good work, Sansa... that was frosty and collected). She nodded towards her father as well. "Good Morning, Daddy."

Ned Stark didn't reply, his lips compressed slightly but he remained unmoved.

"I would offer you breakfast." Sansa continued, fighting the urge to tug at the hem of her (Sandors) tee shirt, "But I'm afraid that we were not expecting company and the cupboards are quite bare."

Catelyn sniffed disdainfully. She pulled out one of the chrome and vinyl chairs at the formica table and sat down. She placed her hands, one on top of the other and crossed them elegantly, on the tables surface and looked up at Sansa expectantly.

All Sansa could think as she pulled out the chair opposite was. 'I just had sex on this table!'

Sandor seemed to be having that same thought. He glanced at Sansa at the table and back at Sansa with a twitch in his scarred jaw. He was just dying to smirk, she could tell. Instead, he walked around the table and stood behind her as she sat, placing his plate-like hands on her shoulders and she supposed he was glaring at her parents from up there.

Ned took up a similar position next to Cat. Sansa thought she should get Sandors desk chair and wheel it over for her dad but wasn't sure if she was more inclined to be impolite by not offering him a chair or indignant that he was here in the first place.

Cat drew in a breath and pursed her lips.

"You were missed last night, dear." She scolded lightly.

"Imagine that." Sansa replied flatly.

"Hmmm." Cat continued. "You left a fair number of guests very worried about your welfare, not to mention your family."

"I believe Jon, Ygritte... and Margarey Tyrell provided my regrets. I also believe Mr Baelish was aware of my departure and consequent absence."

Well... this was all very dignified, wasn't it. Even toned, polite and spectacularly dancing around the issue.

"Many more would have liked for you to put an appearance, they had made the lengthy journey and had dressed to the nines for your benefit."

"Indeed?' Sansa lifted her nose in the air.

"Hmm. Jorah Mormont looked particularity well." Cat replied smoothly, flicking imaginary lint from her sleeve. "It was his father who assisted us in... locating you this morning."

"Jorah?" Sansa grimaced. "He's fathers age..."

Cat breezed over top of her "All I'm saying is, it would have been nice to receive your regrets in person, dear... considering you were on the premises."

Sansa glared at her mother across the table.

"There was no way I was walking into that hall, mother." Sansa gritted, her polite facade slipping. "How could you do something so profoundly humiliating?"

"Humiliating?" Catelyn sniffed, "Sansa dear, the creme-de-la-creme of Kings Landing society was in that hall. All there to honour you."

Sansas cheeks began to suffuse with colour. Did her mother truly believe her to be so very stupid? She felt her tenuous hold on her temper slip completely from her grasp. She stood from her chair place her knuckles on the table top and leaned over her mother.

"To honour me?" She hissed. "How can you say that with a straight face? Ramsay Bolton, Mother? Joffery? JOFFERY?"

Cat pursed her lips to ultra tightness and flared her nostrils. She drew in a deep breath to retort but flinched back as Sansa hands slapped down on the table in front of her.

"That... that cretin... called not only me but the whole Stark family trash... in front of the whole of the Throne Room not three weeks ago" Sansa spat, nearly apoplectic with fury "He left me on the side of the road at two in the morning to literally be raped and murdered... and you thought I'd want him at my birthday party? REALLY!?"

Ned placed his hand on his wifes shoulder. "Sansa..."

"You." Sansa snapped, pointing sharply at her father, "Shut it!"

Ned reared back as if she had slapped him.

"The fact that you have the temerity to walk into Sandors home like this, while holding him in such low esteem... that you view Joffery Baratheon as a better suitor for me over Sandor who saved my life and has treated me with nothing less than the deepest regard... I think that shows just how disconnected you really are from reality... from me!"

Catelyn Stark looked like Sansa had shoved a particularly bitter lemon between her lips. Ned Stark was still struck dumb from the 'shut it' rebuke.

"I think it is time for the both of you to realise that I am a grown up... twenty one years old. Since Thursday I might add. I don't recall receiving a happy name day from either of you then, by the way." Sansa stood up straight. "I think I also need to realise that I must step back and show more responsibility. To prove to you and myself that I am a whole independent woman." She squared her shoulders and looked her father dead in the eye. "Father. I would like to tender my resignation from Tully, Stark and Umber. I will of course get my current accounts in order for my replacement. I would like to thank you whole-heartedly for the opportunity and experience I garnered from my time with you, but I shall be looking to broaden my horizons and gain new skills elsewhere in future."

Her shoulders slumped a little and she cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Sandor who was standing quietly behind her. He quirked his good eyebrow at her but didn't say anything. Was she making a terrible mistake? It seemed like a good idea just a heart beat ago.

In for a copper... in for a crown. She took a quick shaky breath and turned back to her startled parents.

Catelyn had lifted her hand to her mouth in the perfect picture of a distressed parent.

"I... I will also be taking over the lease for my apartment..." She started, but her father had found his voice.

"You can't afford it." He advised her a little triumphantly. "Even gainfully employed at my firm you couldn't afford it. Now that you are unemployed... Well...It is a very expensive apartment. I think you are also a little disconnected from reality, my dear"

To his credit he didn't smirk at her, though she could tell he was just dying to.

"Of course..." She said, "You have kept me in a very comfortable position here... and please don't imagine that I am ungrateful..."

"You're certainly behaving like an ungrateful and very foolish girl." He replied. "You know you're being ridiculous..." He came around the table and turned her towards him by her upper arms.

"Don't touch her." Sandor growled lowly.

Neds eyes whipped up to Sandors.

"Do not presume to tell me how I may address my daughter."

Sandor stepped forwards and loomed over him.

"I don't care if you are her father." He rumbled menacingly. "If you 'address' her the same way you did last time I saw you... "

Sansas hand on his chest silenced him... thankfully stopping him from completing that sentence.

This was getting a little out of hand.

"Please stop. " She pleaded softly. Though the two most important men in her life glared daggers at each other, Ned released her arms and stepped back. "Daddy, mum... Please let me explain myself?"

She looked at them in turn, hoping that she was going to express herself correctly and not make it worse.

"My perception of ...well... everything has changed recently, you know that." She started slowly, lowering herself back into her chair "That night... it seems a really long time ago now..." She felt a large warm hand slide over her shoulder and she absently raised her own hand to cover it. "I had no idea what the real world was... twenty years old and a total innocent. I'm not going to say that being attacked changed me for the better or worse, but it was certainly a wake up call, and one not even having anything to do with... that man. But it does have everything to do with this man." She squeezed Sandors hand and looked up at him with a small smile. "The world isn't black and white. Saying that is cliche, it's so easy to say but it's profound when you discover it's true. Villains look like average people, heroes have sketchy pasts..."

There was a distinct huff of amusement from above her.

"I always tried to be a good, dutiful daughter. Dare I say, a meek and sheltered one." She sat up straighter in her seat and raised her chin. "I have recently procured a backbone and some inkling of intestinal fortitude. I realised that I am a Stark." The corner of her mouth twitched into an almost imperceptible smile before she hid it again behind her serious facade. "Daddy, I can do this... I don't expect you to be happy or to suddenly share my perspective, but I do expect you to respect my choices, right or wrong, as the choices of a grown up and whole woman."

"I do not respect your choice of becoming involved with a violent thug..."

"Joffery is a violent thug!" Sansa shouted back. "You didn't seem phased when he slapped me that time for talking back to him! Oh, that's right...Joffery has money and the right father, he can be as vile as he pleases."

"That little shit hit you?" Sandor grated from behind her.

She waved him off, still glaring at her father.

"I can see we are getting nowhere here." She sighed impatiently. "This is my decision! I am in a relationship with Sandor. I am leaving my position at the firm and I will arrange to move from the apartment to more modest accommodations."

Sansa was suddenly turned on the spot and Sandors fingers were under her chin, lifting her eyes to his.

"I can't let you do that, Little Bird." He rasped at her. "You can't chuck away everything you have, not for the likes of me."

"With all due respect, Sandor." She smiled softly. "I'm not doing it for you. This is for me. To prove to myself that I can."

"And when you discover that you can't..." Her father said from behind her. "We shall expect a penitent daughter to come crawling back, who had better be a damned sight more respectful than she is being now. When this all explodes in your face, sweetheart, you had better be prepared to take you place in Winterfell where you belong... you will, of course, always be welcome home. Maybe then you will appreciate how much we have given you... How much we love you."

"She won't give you the satisfaction, you smug cunt." Sandor growled.

"Sandor... please..." Sansa sighed, wearily rubbing her forehead at her fathers scandalised expression... he was turning a worrying shade of puce. "Don't call my father a... c-word" 

He gave a little shrug but continued to glare at her father, unrepentant.

Catelyn Stark stood gracefully, if a bit stiffly, from the table.

"We'll give you every opportunity to reconsider, Sansa." She said, her voice not as steady as it normally was, though her face gave away little. She stepped around the table and with a cold black look up at Sandor, pecked her daughter on the cheek. "I certainly pray that this all works out for you, for your sake."

She turned regally and swept down the stairs.

Ned Stood his ground a beat longer.

"You're breaking your mothers heart." He scolded his daughter before he scowled up at Sandor. "Remember what I told you, Mr Clegane. I do not make idle threats. If anything happens to my daughter, I will take it out of your mangy hide." 

He looked back at Sansa, ignoring Sandors answering growl. "I will see you Monday morning, sweetheart."

And with that, he followed his wife down the stairs and out of the building.

Sansa stood tall for a moment longer before she released a shaky breath. Her throat began to close, her heart began to pound and her eyes began to fill with tears. Sandors arms enveloped her almost immediately, one of his large hands cradling her head against his warm, furry chest. She didn't cry but she clutched him around the waist and held on tight until her heart began to slow and she no longer needed to gulp in air.

Sandor released her and held her back from him, gazing down into her eyes for moment before nodded emphatically and turning away. He strode away, digging his phone out from his back pocket and calling someone on speed dial. Sansa stood looking baffled.

"Tor." Sandor barked down the phone. "Get a crew and the truck and meet me at the Little Birds apartment." He paused. "No, we're not robbing the place, you Dick! She's moving in with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe 5-6 chapters before I'm done... maybe.  
> I hope this wasn't too disappointing considering how long you've had to wait.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an awful filler chapter. I am ashamed of presenting it especially after such a long wait, but I am going somewhere...  
> Also, Story now has an ending... it's totally written in my head, I just have to vomit it up onto the screen somehow.

Chapter 28  


Mr Manderly looked like he was about to expire from a brain aneurysm. His round face was a particularly incandescent shade of scarlet.

His exclusive, upmarket apartment complex was surrounded by a veritable army of unkempt savages on thunderous motorcycles and an enormous ginger yeti was towering over him in a very intimidating manner.

Sansa clung to Sandor as he swept into the parking lot on his black and chrome chopper. They had stopped briefly in drive-thru for a rather surprisingly good bacon and egg muffin and coffee and at an ASDA for the comfortable, very inexpensive outfit that she now donned. Sansa had never been in an ASDA before and she mentally noted that she should return there in the near future. She had quickly found knickers, jeans, a light blouse and a pair of canvas slip-ons. She was shocked to discover she could pay for the whole lot with her emergency hundred crown note and still had change.... considering the scrap of designer green silk that was currently damp, stained and scrunched up in the corner of Sandors wetroom had set her back just over two thousand crowns... And no one in the giant store seemed to take note of the oversized tee-shirt that she had entered in (there had been a lady there in a fluffy orange bathrobe and slippers and a man in a leopard print unitard, complete with tail, buying pak-choy so she wasn’t too surprised at her anonymity)... It was quite the revelation.

As they came to a stop, Sansa slid gracefully from the back of the bike and hurried over to save her landlord from imminent explosion.

"Good Morning, Mr Manderly." She greeted cheerily. "So sorry about the fuss, sir. I promise we'll be out of your hair in no time."

Mr Manderly sputtered for a moment, still staring up at Tormund who was obviously in the midst of stirring up trouble, if the feral and gleeful grin on his face was anything to go by.

"Sansa Stark... what is the meaning of all of this?" He finally managed to squawk out.

"I'm so sorry Mr Manderly." Sansa simpered beguilingly. "I thought my father would have told you by now." She insinuated herself in between Tormund and her landlord. "This is my moving crew." She gave a vague kind of wave at the motorcycle gang behind her. "I'm moving out today."  
She gave a bright smile and an airy, negligent shrug like this had been planned for an age."With this many people, we shan't be in your way for long at all." She giggled girlishly and batted her eyelashes at him with all of the charm that she could muster.

"You're leaving us?" Mr Manderly asked hesitantly, his face taking on an expression of concern.

"I am." She smiled. "You can finally find someone a little less disruptive to tenant the place, the tenant you deserve."

"Sansa dear, you have been the consummate tenant ever since you first moved in." He patted her on the arm affectionately earning a low growl from the imposing spectre that was now looming behind Sansa, warming her back with his closeness. Mr Manderlys eyes flicked upwards over Sansas head and he yanked his hand away from her person so as not to rile Sandor. "until recently, that is." He added wryly.

"… and you have been a marvelous landlord, sir." She gushed. "I shall miss you terribly." She leaned forwards and pressed her cheek to his and air-kissed somewhere near his temple. "We must press on," She continued as she pulled back. "We don't want to tie up your parking area for too long."

She gifted him with another of her world class smiles and sailed past him into the glass fronted foyer aware of an army of disheveled humanity that followed belligerently in her wake as Mr Manderly shrunk his bulk back against the wall and out of their way as they flowed past.

Sansa boarded the elevator with Sandor silently at her side and then they were pressed further back into the corner when several hairy bikers crammed in as well. Sansa leaned into Sandors side as she found a man that resembled a hedge with eyes packed up against her face. What was the weight limit for this elevator? Could one plummet to ones death from the fourth floor?, she pondered as the doors eased closed and the motors made a worrying wheeze as they ascended at a painfully slow pace.

Now she knew what an anchovy felt like... or a mackerel... sardine?... what other fish were stuffed into cans? What was that smell?

Someone from the front of the car chuckled meanly and the rest of the occupants groaned loudly.

The doors finally opened and the bikers spilled out into the corridor, swearing and aiming punches at a grinning Westerman with an artfully curled moustache... the owner of the offensive smell, Sansa assumed.

Sandor led Sansa out of the elevator and nodded amiably (as amiably as Sandor could anyway) at Mrs Blackwood, who stood scrunched up against the wall opposite the elevator with wide eyes and her hand clutching at her pearls as she watched the unruly procession of lowlifes shamble past her. Sansa sent her a polite smile and ‘good morning’ as she was towed along. One of the men, Mandon? A clean shaven lothario, with an eyebrow ring and the words ‘so much moore’ tattooed on his exposed chest, leaned up against the wall and leered down at Sansas mature neighbour only to be yanked away by one of his compatriots and dragged down the corridor. Mrs Blackwood fled into the elevator car as quickly as she could, heedless of the questionable stench that now flooded it.

Sansa glanced down the corridor, noting more bikers pouring from the stairwell and unlocked her apartment door. 

\-----------------------------------------**********************---------------------------------------

It seemed to be organised chaos. The notorious Westermen gang were obviously experts in clearing out other peoples possessions very quickly and methodically. They swarmed into her apartment and scattered to every corner gathering up her things. They were in great spirits and they called out loudly to each other as they worked. 

There was a brief bout of laughter as Sandors mug shot and rap sheet were found to be adorning Sansas refrigerator door. It was quickly stifled by Sandor stomping into the kitchen and tearing the transgressive piece of crumpled paper, and its delicate butterfly magnets, roughly away and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. He glared at the bikers surrounding the fridge until the silence became decidedly uncomfortable and they all drifted unobtrusively off to find something else to do.

Sansa, for her part, wandered aimlessly amongst the carnage with a bemused expression on her face. She had nothing to actually do herself, other than suggest to one of the packers be careful with her possessions. She left her busy living spaces to the worker bees and walked into her bedroom to find Mya Stone holding a plaid miniskirt that had always looked a little too 'naughty schoolgirl' for Sansas liking, up to herself and looking in the cheval mirror with a speculative look on her face and the pervy Illyn Payne rifling through her shoe rack. She bit back an amused smile as Illyn measured a pair of white stilettos with rhinestone straps against his big booted foot. She told him gently that they were two seasons old and he was welcome to keep them if he wanted them. He gave her a wide grin that showed the stub of his missing tongue and the many gaps from his missing teeth and shoved a shoe in each of his jeans pockets and traipsed from the room with a whistle. Sansa decided not to think too hard about what he would do with the shoes, his feet were very much too big for them...

Mya raised an eyebrow at the exchange and looked at the little skirt in her hands meaningfully before looking up again. Sansa smiled indulgently and nodded her head. Myas lips gave an upwards twitch and she muttered 'thanks' as she unbuttoned her skin tight black leather-look pants and yanked them down revealing a tiny triangle of black cotton that one might have identified as knickers, if they squinted really hard and had their tongue firmly entrenched in their cheek. Sansa whirled around with a blush, giving the confidant young lady some privacy as she donned her new skirt.

Once dressed and her pants stowed, Mya gruffly invited Sansa to help pack her clothes with a nod and they were happily occupied for the duration. Sansa even managed to get a few more words out of the quiet lady and also managed to cull her wardrobe a little more, gifting clothes she didn't remember even buying, some even had the tags still on them causing Mya to choke a little at the prices.

"Fucking Hells, Little Bird, why does one person need so much shit?" Sandor growled as he stomped into the bedroom glaring down at the two women as they sat cross-legged on the floor sorting through Sansas dresser.

She looked up at his thundercloud expression with a winsome, innocent smile and shrugged her shoulders seeing right through his feigned irritation and seeing how secretly thrilled he was at getting her right where he wanted her. Where he could keep his eyes (and hands) on her.

"This was your idea, Smarty pants." She reminded him as she levered herself off the floor and nodded to Mya as she pointedly shook a bejeweled singlet at her. Mya grinned as she pulled it over her head and settled it around her torso. "I am successfully clearing out my wardrobe though." Sansa added wryly as she slid her hands up over his shoulders and twined her fingers through his hair. He helpfully lowered his head and accepted her soft kiss on the burned side of his lips while still maintaining his grouchy demeanor.

"I've sent some of the boys back to clear a space in the workshop for the most of the girly crap, there's no way all of this shit will fit in the loft." He grumbled taking a handful each of her bum cheeks in his hands and drawing her closer, ignoring Myas amused snort from the floor. "Illyn has some of your shoes again."

Sansa giggled and nodded "I know, I gave them to him."

"You know he's gonna wank with them, right?"

Sansa wrinkled her nose, she was happily NOT thinking about what he'd do with them. Sandor chuckled darkly and squeezed her bum.

"We're coming in for the bedroom stuff shortly, hurry up." 

He left her standing there with a slightly repulsed look on her face and stomped back into the living areas shouting at his men to stop eating her food.

\-----------------------------------------------******************-------------------------------------------------

They were done in no time, regardless of Sansas much commented on proclivity to hoard. Sansa was a little discombobulated by the whole thing. Her life in Kings Landing packed away in only an hour or so. Her head was spinning a little as the wind caught the ends of her hair and sent them flying out from under her unfortunate helmet (Why did he make her wear the damned helmet, no one else had to wear a helmet).

On the ride back to Sandors home (her home now too, she supposed), she tried to push any uncertainty at the haste with which all of this was coming to pass to the back of her mind and focused instead on the very important job of deciding what they could use in the small loft and what would be stored and what could be sold... She wondered if she should ask her parents if they wanted any of it, they had technically paid for most of it. Her bedsides were antique from the first Blackfyre rebellion... her mother had chosen them...

She had better call her mother.

She had also better talk to Sandor she thought with a sigh, snuggling her cheek into his broad back and tightening her hold around his waist as he guided the cavalcade of Westermen and the moving truck into industrial Kings Landing. Everything was happening way too fast... they had needed to talk before all of 'this' and 'this' just compounded matters. She made a mental list of to dos. Call mother. Sort belongings for immediate use and storage, talk to Sandor about .... everything.... easy. Oh and find a job ... and graduate university.... argh!

The ride was over way too soon, not giving her much time to think. A group of members milled around the yard of the customs shop waiting for them. She recognised Pod among them playing tug-of-war with Stranger, a ragged length of rope being effectively shredded between them and Podrick being all but dragged around the yard by the enormous scarred hound. Pod released the rope at their approach and the dog took it over to the empty crates stacked by the fence and flopped to the ground to continue the great rope massacre in private growling at his pack mates as they skulked close by.

Pod hailed Sandor and Sansa as they came to a stop in front of the workshop and Sansa smiled brightly in response.

"Hey, Miss Stark." Pod greeted her shyly, reaching around to the back of his jeans as he spoke. He drew her pink handgun out and held it out to her. "I found this in the fruit bowl... you really shouldn't keep it laying around like that."

Sansa blushed and tried to ignore Sandors exasperated huff as she took the gun carefully from Pod with a forced laugh.

"I shall put Betsy away in a more appropriate place from now on, I promise." She said contritely.

Pod nodded and turned away, walking over to help with the unloading of the truck, which was well under way. They were certainly efficient in their work.

Sandor towered over her, his lips in a hard thin line as he looked down at her.

"You named your gun." He rumbled flatly, his tone very unimpressed.

"I would have thought you'd be more upset about me leaving it among the peaches and oranges." She replied with a penitent smile.

"You can leave it where ever you like, as long as you can get to it when you need it." He grated impatiently. "But you can't name it... Betsy..." He sneered. "it's a weapon for fucks sake, not a doll."

"It makes it less intimidating." She reasoned.

"I bought a _pink_ gun to make it less intimidating." He snorted and shook his head in disgust, taking the gun from her hand and checking it over before tucking it in the back of his jeans and turning away. "Hey Oakheart... break that table and I'll break you...."

Sansa rushed to help (supervise) unloading, which happened even faster than the packing. Most of the bikers left before the last boxes were unloaded. The rest left after they emptied the beer fridge in Sandors workshop and before Sansa could truly wrap her head around it, it was just three dogs, one Hound and she standing uncertainly at the top of the stairs looking over the stacks of boxes and occasional furniture cluttering the small space. How had this happened?

Sansa moved first. She collected her hair and knotted it at her nape and stepped up to the closest box. She pulled back the flaps to find it filled with kitchen stuff. She sighed and moved to the next box. Sandor didn't have a kitchen as such, she'd have to think about that one. the next box had a fluffy teal throw, a pink 'hello kitty' scatter cushion and a heap of tasteful knick-knacks. The next box had some of her clothes. This one she could empty with confidence. 

She heard the clunk of Sandor placing her gun on his desk and heard him open up another box. She looked back at him and wanted to laugh.

He'd picked up an organic soy candle, scented with blood orange and pure ceylon tea, in a delicate glass jar and sneered at it.

"I'm gonna walk the boys to the reservoir at the end of the road." He muttered sheepishly, pointing out the window and plunked the candle down again. "They need to burn off some energy and I've neglected the poor bastards." The dogs seemed to know he was talking about them and were immediately on their feet and wagging their tails enthusiastically. "Smith can't walk for more than an hour so we won't be long."

Sansa could see that he didn't want to leave her to sort out the mess but the sudden explosion of colour and fragrance in his tiny space seemed to be creeping him out and he needed a moment to settle his thoughts. She gave him a small, almost sympathetic smile and nodded.

"Of course, it's been a busy day." She said softly.

"I'll be back soon though," He promised quickly. "I'll move the big stuff around... make a tunnel from the bed to the shower... "

She gave a wry laugh, cast her eye over the cluttered room and stepped up to him, her hand coming up to cup his unscarred cheek.

"Take all the time you need, I'm not going anywhere."

His chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath and he nodded. "We won't be long." He said again, looking down into her wide blue eyes. He turned abruptly and stomped down the stairs with the dogs trailing him excitedly.

Sansa didn't wait around, she didn't want to think too hard. She quickly dug into another box and lost herself in an intensive bout of organising.

After only about half an hour she had cleared a sizable area. There had been less piled around than first thought, it was just scattered carelessly and once stacked in an orderly fashion along the wall and a new Wasabi coloured rug that she had originally bought for her entrance way was laying at the top of the stairs, she felt more at ease and more confidant that all was well. Once she got rid of some frivolous things that were surplus to requirements, this would be good. She really did have a lot of stuff.

She heard a heavy tread on the stairs below.

"You're absolutely right." Sansa laughed in resignation as she rifled through the box of cake tins and jelly moulds that she may never use again. She would miss her kitchen. "I have entirely too much 'shit'."

She straightened in light-hearted defeat, smoothed back her fly away tendrils of hair, securing them behind her ears and turned breathlessly towards the stairs. Her breathless laugh and welcoming smile froze on her lips and a spike of terror ripped through her.

THAT was NOT the Clegane she was expecting.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.

Chapter 29

If her mind could have formed a coherent thought, even then, it would still would have only been meaningless terrified jibber-jabber

Sansa backed away from the stairs slowly keeping her eyes fixed on the lumbering monster as he completed his ascent of them as her heart pounded violently in her chest. He had her pinned in his gaze as well… his disconcertingly empty grey eyes, void of any scrap of humanity.

Sandor was a very large man. He stood at six foot, ten inches tall, more than a foot taller than Sansa. Gregor Clegane was almost a full foot taller than his younger brother and where Sandor seemed very tall, Gregor seemed all the more inhuman, his vast bulk more giant, more distorted and all the more monstrous for it. He overfilled the room and towered over Sansa intimidatingly even as she backed cautiously across the floor. He seemed to stifle every conceivable corner and cranny, smothering every feeling of sanctuary and safety from the space.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and glared down at her, his bulbous head tilted slightly to the left in malignant curiosity, scanning her from head to toe and back up again. His eyes lingered on her breasts for much longer than Sansa was comfortable with, she squirmed on the inside and shrank back from him even further. The back of her legs touched the end of the bed. Her heart skipped in her chest at the feeling of being penned in and stalked without escape.

“When Randa said little Sandy had a new girl… I did not expect such a pretty... little... piece.” His voice was all kinds of wrong. The cadence of his speech was stilted and broken, like he was unused to the practice... Sandors voice rasped, but it was deep, husky and sexy. Gregors voice was steel hitting bone, nails on a chalk board… it made Sansas skin crawl and caused gooseflesh of horror to rise. “How’d he get such a pretty little piece?” 

He took a lumbering step forwards. Sansa tried to step back further, forgetting the bed already pressed to the back of her legs, the bed she had been looking forward to sharing with her man. She lost her balance and sat heavily only to spring back up again, scrambling unsteadily around the bed, very aware she was backing herself into a corner but needing to keep as much space between herself and the giant monster as possible.

How was he here?

“Didn't expect to find you here...." He said looking around, taking in the disarray of packing boxes before settling his dead eyes back on her. "Nothing to say, Red?” He rumbled taking another step towards her. Sansas back hit the wall. “I know you can speak… heard your answerphone once… Sansa… Sansa Stark, right? Hello, you’ve reached Sansa Stark…”

He took two more large strides and was at the side of the bed, his dead eyes scanned her up and down again.

“I used my weekly phone call to hear your voice, Red.” His cruel lips tilted up into a leer. “Worth it… to hear your voice... I’d like to hear that pretty voice again.”

Sandor would be back soon, he had to be. The dogs surely didn’t need that much exercise. Lady had only needed an hours run before she coma’d on the hearth rug for the entire afternoon, and Smith had a decided limp from an old dog fighting injury. Sandor had said he couldn't be out long. How long had he been gone? 

Sansa craned her neck and allowed her eyes to flick away from the hollow eyes of the belligerent creature that towered over her. The top of the stairs was devoid of a comforting presence and she realised her mistake all too soon.

A hefty, meaty arm whipped out with the speed of a striking viper and thick fingers wrapped themselves around her throat like a python. Sansas eyes wrenched open wide with fear even as her attention swept back to his face and a strangled yelp drove itself from her chest. Her small delicate fingers clutched at Gregor Cleganes thick wrist, trying fruitlessly to make him release his hold on her throat.

“I want to hear that pretty voice again, Red.” He leaned down until his nose, large and hooked just like Sandors, nearly brushed hers, his eyes boring into hers, his bone chilling face blotting out everything else in the world.

“Please… stop.” Sansa choked as her whimpered plea squeezed through her constricted vocal cords.

“There it is.” It was almost like he was crooning at her… almost.

He pressed his forehead to hers and she flinched back, the back of her head thudding sharply on the wall. His other hand came up and wrapped around a stray wisp of her fiery hair. He bought it to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, his voice a deep demonic growl. He drew back from her and speared her with his eyes again. Sandors eyes were a storm... or a pool of molten silver when he was inside of her. Gregors eyes were stone. Gregors eyes were an abyss. Barren.

“How’d he get you, aye?” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and Sansa shuddered in disgust. She tried to turn her face away only to have it wrenched back by her hair and a tightening fist at her throat. She gagged and clawed at his wrist.

“You know, Red…” He continued in a conversational air, ignoring her futile scratching. “... My little brother has shared his girls with me before…. None as pretty as you.”

Sansa began to struggle frantically. She knew the fates of Sandors lady friends May and Deidre… Gregor continued to ignore her jerking and overwrought movements and a slow evil smile split his face.

“I bet you taste like cherries.” He snarled lowly, suddenly dipping his head again and crushing his sickening lips against hers. 

She responded by instinct, the instinct of a wolf; not with a returned kiss, not with a clamping down of her lips to prevent his touch and intrusion. Sansa opened her mouth, barred her teeth and bit down with all of her strength, taking his fleshy bottom lip and shredding it under her incisors. His blood filled her mouth as he wrenched back from her with a grunt and even though she knew it was coming, the sheer force of his massive hand striking her rattled her brain within her skull and sent her careening into the wall and the sill of the small window. Her forehead clashed and cracked the glass. The 'pish' sound and the resounding tone that followed echoed around her head and left her dazed. She barely even felt his fist clutch at her hair and drag her over towards the bed by her tortured scalp.

"Oh-ho, a feisty wee bitch, aye?" His grating voice was far away and she struggled to focus on which direction it came from... next to her ear? behind her? 

"Randa said you were soft and... precious. The gods know I like the feisty ones."

She was thrown and as she landed with an 'oomph' face down on the bed, her head was suddenly wrenched back by her hair and unbearable weight pressed into the small of her back making her vertebrae creak in protest.

She tried to scream, but her face was quickly pressed into the duvet, cutting off not only her voice but also her breath. 

She tried to fight. Gods, she tried. He was simply too big, too strong and her fruitless convulsing not only inflamed him, but also sapped her strength, it drew on her need to breathe, a need that was denied to her. 

White lights and black spots began to appear and burst behind her tightly clamped eyelids and her struggles weakened. She was fading.

... So much so, that she didn't even realise the moment that she was free. She barely heard the ragged howl of a furious beast reverberating around the loft space. She simply slid from the side of the bed and slumped onto the floor gasping in oxygen and shaking her head trying desperately to clear it and make sense of what was happening around her. She slowly lifted her head and locked her dazed cornflower blue eyes on a pair of raging titans pummelling each other with their giant fists.

Sandor!

Sandor had returned and he had saved her. 

She shrieked as the two behemoths stumbled towards her and she scrambled out of the way as their solid bodies flew passed her and crashed into the pile of boxes that she had diligently stacked against the wall earlier, as they both endeavored to kill each other with their bare hands. Sandor had murder in his eyes and blood on his skin, his burns were livid in the bright afternoon light as they stretched taut in his rage. 

They were strangely quiet as they fought each other, they didn't cast callous taunts as they systematically tore themselves to pieces. They grunted and hissed as pain was inflicted and accepted but their mouths both stayed set in mirrored hard lines... the whole savage war was going on with their eyes and their ferocious blows. Hatred spewed from both combatants.

Sansa crawled unsteadily away from the fray, staggering to her feet as she leaned heavily on Sandors desk and she shook her head once again fighting for clarity of thought.

Her dazed eyes fell on Betsy. The pink gun sat where Sandor had set it earlier, on the top of his desk... on the blotter, next to the stapler. She blinked and looked at it vacantly, the crash and roar of the warring brothers faded to background noise as she regarded it. Sansa reached out and wrapped her hand around the grip, lifted it and clicked the safety off, just like Sandor had shown her.

She turned to face the room, the battleground.

Sansa raised the suddenly exceedingly heavy weapon in shaky hands and with a muzzy head and hesitantly squeezed the trigger.

The first shot thundered through the small space, the second came quickly after, the reverb blending with the first and then the third… and the forth. Sansa continued the squeeze and squeeze until the air was still once again and the only sound was the click-click-click of a firing pin striking an empty chamber over and over. Sansa was still squeezing the trigger long after the pistol was barren of ammunition.

She gasped in a breath of smoky air and choked on it. Her fingertips became numb and her gun slipped from them and clattered loudly to the floor. It skittered and echoed on the floor and came to rest on the pretty wasabi coloured rug that she had laid there only a few short minutes ago.

Across the room there lay a mound of human flesh. The combined bulk of Gregor and Sandor Clegane. Neither were moving.

“Sandor.” Sansa whispered brokenly, her unsteady hand rising to her mouth in shock and awe.

She took a stumbling step forwards, towards their still forms and with her knees failing her, she stopped again.

“… San… Sandor?...” She sobbed as her legs suddenly regained their strength and propelled her forwards the last few steps with very precarious stability.

She fell to her knees at their sides. Gregors hulking mass had fallen atop of Sandor, smooshing him into the floorboards and concealing his beloved face from Sansa. Sansa shoved ineffectually against Gregors side, trying to get to her Sandor. Her shoves became more and more desperate and more and more frantic with each passing second and finally, with a mighty push with her shoulder and the entirety of her weight behind her, Gregor Cleganes prone body slid sideways onto the floor with a dull, lifeless thud.

Sandors scars were a deep vivid red against the backdrop of his worryingly pale face. His eyes were closed, the thick dark lashes that she so envied him for, brushed his stubbly cheeks. A swath of his long dark hair draped over his face and she reached out to move it aside, slipping it behind his ear.

Sansa suddenly grabbed a handful of his long sleeve tee shirt, bunching it at his chest as she shook him none too gently.

“Sandor?” She pleaded softly, tears pooling in her eyes and overflowing down her cheeks in an unheeded torrent.

She shook him harder and cried his name more loudly, more frantically, until she was screaming down at him, deaf to her own splintered voice.

It was then that she felt the wetness under her palms, the squelch of moisture permeating Sandors dark clothing. She pulled her hands away from him and stared at them dumbly, not quite registering the deep red colour of the syrupy fluid soaking her fingers.

It was warm and thick and smelled of copper.

Sansa threw herself over his massive chest with a lost cry and hugged him to her.

She’d shot her Sandor.


End file.
